Who you are shines through
by Safekeeping
Summary: A first foray into the world of fanfiction. The romance of a fascinating, complicated, and surprisingly under-represented couple: Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour, from their first meeting until I am content to leave them to get on with their lives.
1. Prologue: First Sight

Author's notes:

1. In my portrayal of romance, I have tried to find a middle ground between showing the thoughts and emotions of the characters and giving them some measure of privacy. We want to experience the intimate moments, the private thoughts, the secret hopes and fears. But sometimes when we are told _everything_, it feels a little contrived - If we were in the story, we would not be able to see every thought and detail, and there would be times when, just as a bystander looks away when lovers kiss, we would look away from our main characters. Leaving a little bit of space also allows the reader to fill it with his or her own imagination, making the characters in some ways more personal and accessible. I may have very clear ideas about why Fleur does or says something, or what Bill was thinking, but I might not include it. If you want to know more, if you have questions, or requests for something you might like to see between them, feel free to let me know by review or personal message, and I'll do my best to respond.

2. Fleur's accent is softened somewhat in my text, 1) because it's rather annoying and time consuming to write (and some might add read), and 2) because she spoke passable English in Book 4, moved to England just before book 5 begins, and has done 'private lessons' in English with Bill for a year by the time we see her again in book 6. Over that time, I would imagine her English pronunciation would have improved noticeably.

3. This first chapter is really more of a prologue, and is a little shorter and more episodic than those to come.

* * *

Fleur walked up the grassy slope from the carriage, her mind wandering back onto the third task. She ran over spells and enchantments in her head, mentally listing all the magical tools she might need to get through the maze. She was so preoccupied, she almost ran into a tall Hogwarts boy, who stared at her as she stopped just short of him. She mumbled a hasty "excuse-moi" and turned to step around him, bringing her attention back to her surroundings.

The morning clouds were thinning, and the grey castle looked less gloomy and forbidding in the sunlight reflected off the still water of the lake. As she looked towards the water, a cluster of official-looking men caught her eye. She recognized Ludo Bagman, but he was standing with several others she didn't know. There was an older-looking wizard with spectacles and a rather crumpled looking hat, and a couple of younger men. One was short and blonde and laughing immoderately, but the other was taller and frowning slightly in her direction. As his eyes caught hers, she realized he was looking at her, and it gave her a strange feeling. Not bad, but...there was something different about the way he looked at her.

It wasn't the vacant, besotted stare she was so accustomed to receiving from boys because of her Veela heritage, the jealous looks of other girls, the lustful leers of unsavory wizards or the wistful dismissal of older married men. It was critical, as if he was analyzing her, looking somehow _through _the Veela charm, the perfect features, the haughty expression that came from trying to cope with being simultaneously fawned over and outcast and always seen as an object before a person.

Fleur shivered a little, suddenly feeling very small and young. For a moment, the feeling reminded her of a time long ago, before it mattered whether she was beautiful, before boys stared and girls gossiped. She remembered playing by a lake as a child, bluer and warmer than the cold water at Hogwarts, and walking up a grassy slope with her dress grass-stained, her fingers grubby with dirt under the nails, and her hair messy. She shook herself, and realized the man by the lake was still looking at her unashamedly. Usually boys blushed and stuttered or turned away after a few moments, though some men tried to catch her eye or leered suggestively. But he just looked at her, his gaze scrutinizing yet inscrutable. She felt the color rise in her cheeks and started to turn away, and she saw the strange man turn back to his companions, running a hand through his long red hair.

* * *

Bill wasn't sure how much he liked being back in England. He liked the deep greens and the cool rains, and being close to his family. But he missed the austere beauty of the desert, the surprising lushness of small Oases, the blazing red and gold of the Egyptian sunset over the sand and craggy rocks of the desert.

He also didn't know when he would be able to return, if at all. Officially, he had not yet transferred back to London, but he probably would, citing a desire to return home and find a less dangerous position than curse-breaker. In fact, his real reasons for returning were much more sinister. Dumbledore had written to him, asking him to come back at least temporarily, and while his old headmaster gave no specific reason for his request in his letter, Bill suspected it had to do with the growing rumors of Death Eater activity.

He had applied for leave to return to England, not sure whether it would be permanent or not. Dumbledore had soon written again, asking him to come to Hogwarts during the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. He therefore came with his mother, ostensibly to support Harry in the task, still unsure of the real reason for Dumbledore's request.

Bill had come up to Hogwarts with Ludo Bagman, an older man from the department of International Magical Cooperation whose name he didn't know, and his assistant Richard. Richard, or Richie, as he preferred to be called, was friendly enough, and they chatted companionably while Ludo Bagman and the older man talked logistics. Bill was looking absently out at the lake when Richie tapped him on the shoulder.

"Cor, would you look at that!" Bill looked over his shoulder towards the castle, expecting to see something unusual or surprising, but all he saw was the same grey castle and grassy lawn dotted with students.

"Look at what?" he asked.

"_That,"_ said Richie, pointing to a girl walking up from the Bouxbatons carriage. Bill was slightly annoyed - he had seen plenty of pretty girls, and it bothered him when other men so blatantly viewed women as objects. He thought it rather distasteful and immature that a 25 year old man would think it appropriate to ogle a girl 7 or 8 years younger than him, who was still in school, and whom he had never met.

Years as a curse breaker had taught Bill that things were rarely as they first appeared, people not least of all. Pretty faces and shapely physiques were common enough, yet they were all that many men seemed to notice. Whether the years in his unusual job had given Bill a keener analytic sense, or whether that natural sense had led him to his job, Bill had learned to recognize deeper and subtleties than most, in both magic and other people. What attracted him to people was less how they looked than how they moved, how they spoke, the way they carried themselves, the expressions in their faces that revealed more of who they were inside.

This had some unexpected side effects - at the quiddich world cup, for example. When the Bulgarian veela started dancing, Bill felt the same instinctive attraction that all the other men did, but it exerted little pull on him. He found the veela no more alluring than an attractive face noticed on a stranger in passing; interesting for a moment, but quickly forgotten.

Richie nudged Bill again.

"Come on man, you're not even looking! Tell me that isn't the hottest - "

"Okay, okay." Grudgingly, and mostly to get Richie to shut up, Bill turned to look at the blonde girl. She was slender, with long, silvery hair. She carried herself proudly erect, but Bill thought she seemed to be walking with less purpose, a sense vindicated when she nearly ran into another student. She quickly recovered, and looked around so he could see her face.

She was very pretty, with delicate features, and there was a strange magic about her; Bill realized she must be at least part Veela. She had a slightly haughty look, that must come from being constantly fawned over, but as she paused and looked out at the lake, Bill thought he saw more in her face than he expected. There was pride and disdain, she had the look of a woman who knew she was beautiful and expected to be treated accordingly. But as he looked at her, he thought he saw the face of a much younger girl shining through; there was a childlike innocence there, mostly forgotten perhaps, but not gone completely. And he thought there was determination, to prove something to herself or someone else.

That shouldn't be so surprising really. If she was here as a competitor for the Triwizard tournament, she must be both intelligent and determined. But there was something in her gaze he couldn't quite place - something he found fascinating. Suddenly, she turned away, and he watched her walk back up to the castle.

"What's up with you?" Bill turned back to Richie's voice.

"What? you told me to look at her, so I looked?"

"I told you to check out some chick, but you stood there looking like your in an art museum analyzing a painting. You had this concentrated look on your face, like you were reading or something, and you didn't even comment on her bum!"

Bill, who hadn't actually noticed the girl's bum, just shrugged.

"Yeah, well...What time is it? I've got a meeting at two."

* * *

Fleur was nervous on the morning of the third task. When she met her parents after breakfast, she found herself gibbering away about all the spells she knew, and would it be enough, and what kind of obstacles would there be. Her mother and father encouraged and reassured her, but she was still nervous. She took a deep breath and looked around, noticing for the first time little Harry Potter in the far corner. With him was a kind faced motherly woman with red hair, and - it was him: the man from the lake. He looked a little preoccupied and didn't seem to notice her, but she found his presence inexplicably soothing. He was quite handsome, and the ear ring and leather gave him a roguish charm, but what she really noticed was the way he seemed to hold himself. His movements were calm and graceful, his posture upright but relaxed. He had the look of a man who has seen hard work and danger, but was not broken by them.

Fleur felt immediately foolish for thinking such things - reading so much into his character by a casual glance. 'I have read to many romance novels,' she said to herself, and shook her head, bringing her attention back to her parents. To her surprise, she found her mother was simply gazing at her with a knowing look in her eyes.

"Maman, c'est quoi?" Fleur started to ask, but her mother just shook her head.

"William."

"Professor Dumbledore. You asked to see me?" Dumbledore sighed, and walked back behind his desk, sinking heavily into his chair.

"Please, sit down." Bill sat, noticing that Dumbledore looked older than the last time he had seen him. Dumbledore said nothing for a moment, then looked at him, a trifle wistfully, he thought. "I remember the last time you sat there. Just graduated head boy, nervous, but so determined."

Bill recalled the day, six years earlier, when he had come to ask Dumbledore for a recommendation. Gringotts Bank rarely hired curse breakers so soon after finishing school; it was a demanding job, which required skill, power, discernment, and a cool head. Bill had all of those; he was young, yes, but he knew what he wanted to do, and was gifted enough to do it.

"I am sorry that, this time, I cannot simply write you a glowing, well deserved recommendation and wish you well. I am afraid that I will have to ask you something that I once hoped never to have to ask anyone again."

"What's that, sir?" Bill asked, but he already guessed the answer. Ever since the Death Eater attack at the World Cup, he had half expected this.

"I am asking you to join the Order of the Phoenix."

Bill nodded slowly. "He's back then." Dumbledore shook his head.

"Not yet. I never really thought he was gone for good...and three years ago I gained proof that Voldemort still lived, if you could call it that. He is still weak, still remaining hidden, but I suspect he is planning his return. I don't know when he will return - a month, a year, hopefully longer - but I have a feeling it will be soon."

"What do you want me to do?" Dumbledore fixed him with his piercing gaze, and Bill shifted slightly in his chair. He felt as if he was being sized up, having his power tested - just as he himself might assess a sealed tomb or secret chamber.

At last, Dumbledore spoke again. "Nothing, yet. Come back to England, to be close by. I haven't reformed the order yet, but I want to be ready, and your skills would be a valuable asset." Bill nodded again.

"I can apply for a desk job in London..." Dumbledore looked at him again, and Bill thought he appeared even older.

"Thank you, William. And I'm sorry."

* * *

Fleur paced back and forth, the letter held tight behind her back. She had been sketching the wisteria tree by the pond when it had come, the large owl carrying it looking important and rather impressed with itself. The envelope was heavy and formal looking, with bold, gothic lettering across the front.

Gringotts Wizarding Bank

London, England

She thought about just going back to her sketching, worrying about it later. But that was silly - she should just open it, it wasn't going to go away. But did it matter? Even if she had been accepted, would she really go? Leave home for another country, take a job she wasn't even sure she wanted? It was a decent career move. Everyone ought to be fluent in English, and it was the biggest bank in the wizarding world. She had always been good with numbers and arithmacy. And maybe, while she was there, she would see...No, don't be absurd. Just because he was English didn't mean he would be in London. He might not even - why was she still thinking about - anyway, the letter.

Slowly, she unfolded it, hardly breathing.

_Dear Ms Delacour_

_ On behalf of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, it is my pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted to a position as assistant to international liaison..._

She'd been accepted. She could go. This was good, wasn't it? Of course it was, she wanted this, she wouldn't have applied unless she really wanted it. But what if she went, and never saw...that would be even worse than not going, not knowing...No. This was ridiculous. She didn't even know his name. She had never spoken to him, and probably wouldn't like him if she had, and here she was acting like a silly schoolgirl with a crush. Of course she would take the job, move to England. She would go to London, improve her English, be professional and competent and gain valuable skills while building her resume. And she wouldn't even think twice about the red-headed Englishman.


	2. New Home

Bill stared out across the desert, watching the sun sink behind the vast silhouettes of the pyramids. It would be the last Egyptian sunset he would see, at least for a while. He had a new position at for Gringotts London branch: magical security analysis. It was a decent job, as desk jobs went, especially since there was a little bit of field work involved. It actually paid a little better than curse breaking too - many breakers, as they called them, took similar positions when they were done risking their lives in the far reaches of the world.

He would test and analyze the magical protections that filled the Gringotts vaults. There were literally thousands of spells interwoven through the bank, from minor filing privacy spells to ancient invocations of protection. Sometimes Gringotts would be contracted to provide security for certain wealthy customers' business transactions, and a curse breaker would be needed to make sure they were secure as possible, or a new sealing spell would have to be tested. But mostly it would be a lot of theory; calculations of spell interactions, magical/material density coefficients, incantic spacometry. He would miss the tombs, the smell of stale, dusty air that hadn't been breathed for three thousand years, the thrill of finding a crack in a millennium old curse. But he was needed back home now. Taking one last long look as the last glimmer of the sun winked out of sight behind the Great Pyramid, bill turned back towards the little community of magical tents where the curse breakers stayed.

His belongings were packed in two bags, lying on his bed. A nondescript green glass jar sat on his bedside table with a note attached to it that read

_Gringotts Bank, London, England. 7:19 pm, July 7th. _

Bill glanced at his watch. 7:04. He went to the door of his tent, taking a few last breaths of Egyptian air, watching as the first stars began to appear. In a few minutes, the portkey would activate, whisking him back to England, and into a war that the order could not afford to lose; a war that could very well claim his life. The increased responsibility weighed on him, but he was more concerned for the wellbeing of his family and the wizarding world in general than afraid for himself.

* * *

Fleur thought she was doing rather well. Sure, she occasionally made a mistake, and her English, though decent, was not improving quite as quickly as she would have liked, but she was getting on alright. Gringotts had business all over the world, and therefore employed many people who spoke another language in order to ensure that all transactions were smooth. Of course Fleur, having just started, wasn't doing as much _liaising _as _filing; _mostly her job was to go over transcriptions and make sure the numbers were consistent. But she was good at it, and as she got used to the job she was gradually given more responsibility.

In her third week, the French International liaison officer had called in sick one day. One of the goblins informed her that she would be required to make his planned transfer of some 10,000 galleons from a fairly important politician in the French Ministry of Magic to England. It made her a little nervous, but she kept her cool, professional demeanor, and everything went smoothly. She had a feeling it was a kind of test, for the goblin watched her critically through all stages of the transfer, then nodded discretely when she finished and left without a word.

Success in her new job made Fleur feel a little bit more vindicated in her choice to come to England. She had a good job, a fairly competitive one at that, and what's more she was good at it. London had its own charm, though she thought she might prefer paris, but her little flat in the magical residences at the end of Diagon Alley was convenient and homelike. She had everything she needed, and hadn't even thought about the red-headed man. Well, not too much anyway. True, she scanned the streets she walked through every day for a hint of that distinctive red hair - she thought she saw it once, but on second glance it turned out to be a balding middle aged man, probably just on his way to work like her. Of course it was silly to think that just because he was English, and she was in England, he would just walk right up to her door.

Bill dropped his bags onto the bed of his London Flat. Although he had only been here for about five minutes, it was already familiar enough. Gringotts' tents in Egypt had the same floor plan as the Gringotts' employee accommodations in England, so he had the odd sensation of not having gone anywhere at all. Of course, a quick glance out the window reminded him, with its view of the London skyline notably absent of any pyramids or desert.

It was Thursday, and Bill technically didn't start his new job until monday, but he was supposed to go in Friday morning to meet his supervisor - a former curse breaker from Italy named Antonio Benelli. Bill had heard good things about Antonio, and was actually looking forward to meeting him. Benelli had gained a reputation as a powerful and innovative curse breaker at Angkor Wat in Cambodia. Of course, that had been the better part of ten years ago. Like most curse breakers, getting older and starting a family had led him to pursue a less dangerous line of work. He ended up marrying an English locator he met in Cambodia - she figured out where the treasure was likely to be, he broke curses to retrieve it - which brought him eventually to London.

The next morning Bill woke up fairly early - Egypt was an hour ahead of London, after all - and figured now would be as good a time as any to talk to Antonio. He pulled on his boots and slipped into a dragonhide jacket, reflecting that now that he was a proper banker he might need to get some new clothes, with less leather and metal in them, and possibly more pinstripes. Him in business robes - now that would be a sight. All the curse breakers dressed a little extravagantly, partly out of vanity (that's right, I risk a horrific death regularly, and yes, these boots are dragonhide with silver studs), and partly out of practicality (tough jobs needed tough clothes, and leather helps to keep out scorpions, spiders, falling rocks and dust).

But tightening his leather belt made him feel somehow more at home, more ready to deal with whatever might come at his job, or for the Order. He still hadn't heard anything further from Dumbledore.

When he arrived at Gringotts around nine o'clock, he found it as busy as ever. He made his way through the marble entrance hall, to a stone door at the back of the hall labelled 'EMPLOYEES ONLY.' It was heavy, set on large iron hinges, but opened easily at his touch. As he walked through, he felt the subtle presence of a spell verifying that he had the right to be where he was. Now to find Benelli.

Unfortunately, that proved harder than expected. While no-one could accuse the Gringotts goblins of being disorganized, they seemed to take pleasure in making their offices a confusing labyrinth of halls, and meeting rooms, laid out in no discernible order. The Goblins had very precise memories, strong sense of direction, and were accustomed to moving about in deep caves and stone fortresses, so while they navigated their offices without trouble it took the humans some time to get used to it. Not that it felt like a dungeon - it was all well lit, polished stone, with many windows. But the rambling nature of its construction meant that one might be walking along a corridor lit by large glass skylights at one moment, then the next find one's self on the bottom of three stories, without ever going downwards.

Eventually, Bill managed to find Benelli's office. It was empty, and Bill asked a passing secretary where he was, and whether he was likely to return soon.

"I'm not sure...he doesn't spend too much time here, prefers to work from home." Bill sighed. Great, he probably wasn't even here. "But you might try over in foreign liaisons, he often has to talk to Eugene Arceneau there." Shrugging his shoulders, Bill thanked her and headed off in the direction she pointed. The foreign liaison offices turned out to be only a short walk from Spellwork and Security, but unfortunately they were larger than he expected, and he didn't know what Benelli, or this Arceneau fellow looked like. Seeing an open office door, he knocked and entered, hoping whoever worked here could tell him where to go.

* * *

Fleur finished signing off on the new numbers from Monsieur Arceneau. He was in his office, talking to someone about securing a business transaction in Italy, which was always made difficult by the wizarding corner of the Italian mob. She was just reaching for another folder when a soft knock made her look up, and her cracked door swung open a little further.

"Excuse me." A tall, handsome man stood in her doorway. His long red hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and one hand was in the pocket of a scaly leather jacket. It was him. The young man from Hogwarts. He wasn't wearing his fang earring, and he looked a little more careworn than before, but it was definitely him. Standing at her door. Asking her a question. What was he asking her?

"Excuse-moi?"

"I was just wondering if you knew where Antonio Benelli is? I heard he might be talking to a Mr...Arceno?

"Oui, Monsieur Arceneau. 'is office is just down ze 'all."

"Thank you." He turned to leave. No, he couldn't just leave, what if she never saw him again? Fleur stood up quickly, but what could she say? She didn't even know his name. But before he left, he suddenly turned back around. "You were at Hogwarts last year, for the Triwizard tournament."

"Ou-Yes, I was." He remembered her!

"From...Beauxbatons, right?"

"Yes. You were with 'arry Potter, no?"

He nodded, and a shadow crossed his face

Bill nodded, remembering the meeting with Dumbledore on the day of the third task, and what had transpired that evening. The noise, the confusion, the screams, and finally the truth. Dumbledore had said he hoped for a year - he hadn't gotten a week. He remembered the trauma and exhaustion written on Harry's face when he saw him in the Hospital wing, and Dumbledore's anger at Fudge. And he remembered the haunted look in his father's eyes, when he told him that Voldemort had returned.

The blonde girl looked uncomfortable; she probably guessed what was crossing his mind, and certainly must have had similar memories of that day. With an effort of will, he pushed the dark thoughts to the back of his mind. What was her name...he thought he'd heard it mentioned...Fran? - no.

"Fleur, isn't it?" She nodded. "Bill Weasley." He took a step back into her office to shake her hand, and tried not to notice the softness of her skin, and the delicacy of her slender fingers. "I work in security, just down the hall."

"Fleur Delacour, foreign accounts. I 'ave not seen you 'ere before. 'Ave you just started?"

"I just moved back from Egypt. I was a curse breaker there, but I start here monday." Fleur nodded.

"Why did you want to come back? You did not like Egypt?"

"No, I loved it there. But...I wanted to be closer to family, and it's a dangerous job." It was mostly true. He did miss his family, and it was dangerous. He couldn't mention that he wasn't here just to spend more time with his mum, and it was likely to get more dangerous here than Egypt very soon. "What about you? What brought you to England? Fleur looked at him for a moment, then blushed as if he had asked her something very personal.

"I...it was a good opportunity, and I 'oped to improve my English." Bill didn't see what could be embarrassing about that, so he simply nodded.

"Well, I should go find my boss. Just down the hall, you said?" She nodded again.

"Oui. I'll see you again?" Bill shrugged.

"I suppose so."

* * *

Bill got back to his flat around noon. He opened the cupboards in the kitchen - employee lodgings were usually stocked a little bit for a new occupant - but was unimpressed with what he found. He was just considering going out for lunch, or perhaps going back to the burrow - he hadn't been back yet, after all - when a tapping sound came from his window.

He walked over to it, and let in a magnificent Horned Owl, which ruffled its feathers importantly and held out its left leg. Bill untied a tightly wrapped note, and read it quickly.

_Come to the entrance to Platform 9 3/4 at Kings cross station._

_ A.P.W.B.D_

Bill turned the note over, half expecting to find something more written on the back, but that was all it said. He set the note on the counter, but almost as soon as it left his hand it burst in to flame, and in less than a second all that remained was a small pile of fine ash. Not knowing what else to do, Bill grabbed his wand and apparated to the leaky cauldron. From there it was only a short walk to King's cross.

He arrived at the station, and made his way to the barrier that separated the magical part of the station from the muggle part. There was an old man leaning up against it, dressed as a muggle, but with a long crooked nose protruding from under a battered hat. He looked up as Bill arrived, glanced around, and grasped his arm. Just as he began to feel the telltale squeezing of apparition, the old man whispered in his ear.

"The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at number twelve, Grimmauld Place."


	3. English Lessons

Over the following weeks, Bill gradually began to settle in to his routine. His work for the order was mainly observation at this point, though he had consulted with Dumbledore a little bit concerning the kinds of protection to use on the homes of Order members. His primary task was to pay attention for any potentially suspicious activity at Grigotts. Voldemort's early moves would be in recruiting and consolidating power, and for that he would need gold. Working in security, Bill was perfectly placed to move through many different departments and parts of the bank, and glean information about what money went where, especially with England's older, more connected families.

This also meant that he saw Fleur almost every day she was there. Her job was part time, only Wednesday through Friday, but she seemed to make a point of passing by his office on her way in and out and saying hello. She was rather quick and businesslike about it, but it was nice all the same. Occasionally, Bill too would happen to be passing near the Foreign liaison office. Fleur usually seemed a little haughty and overly formal with her colleagues, but perhaps that was just how she was. Hard not to be, growing up part veela, he reflected. She had a tendency to be rather blunt about her opinions as well, a trait that had not endeared her to the other staff.

On one particular occasion, he was sent to check the spell compatibility between protective enchantments on a precious cargo from Russia and the new enchantments that would be placed on its arrival in Spain. He had just gotten the file from Antonio, and was heading back to his office, when he heard Fleur's voice.

"Zis system is absurd! I 'ave to compare four different sets of files een order to complete one transfer! Why not put all ze information I need een one place?"

Bill smiled at the way her accent seemed to get thicker when she was annoyed, and at Eugene's quiet but slightly pressed responses.

"That's the way it's always been done, and you're not likely to convince the goblins to change."

"Ridicule pompeux petites bêtes, pourquoi doivent-ils toujours...mais, excuse-moi. I do not mean to speak out...only, it really would be more...eficace, if..."

She came out of Arceneau's office, her cheeks slightly pink. She got even redder when she saw him, and must have realized he heard the whole thing. Bill just shrugged his shoulders.

"Honestly, sometimes I feel the same way. I don't know what exactly you said about the goblins, but..." She gave him a slightly embarrassed smile.

"I am sorry you 'eard zat."

"Don't worry about me. Just don't let the Goblins hear you. They may be proud and set in their ways, but they're crafty, and they tend to know just about everything that goes on around here." Fleur nodded her head. Bill turned to head back to his office, but she called him back.

"Bill?"

"Hmm?"

"I am wondering if...per'aps, you could 'elp me learn to speak English?"

Bill looked at her, slightly nonplussed.

"You are speaking English."

"But it is still difficult...I sometimes 'ave...I still need to improve."

Bill shrugged.

"I don't speak French, so I don't know how much help I could be. Besides, I have a lot of commitments right now," that was definitely true, though Fleur couldn't know the half of it, "and this new job is keeping me very busy. You could probably find a teacher, though."

Fleur was crushed. Of course he would be too busy, too important. She suddenly realized that this was how she must have appeared to most of the many boys who asked her out, whom she didn't necessarily dislike, but didn't know and frankly didn't really have the time for. To have come all this way, and found him, even gotten to know him a little, only to have him be so completely uninterested in her. Why was it that the only time she really wished she could make someone interested in her, he was apparently completely immune to her charms?

Bill watched her face fall, how she seemed to sag a little bit and her eyes dulled. It was just English lessons, and there were plenty of people who could help her. Why did she look so disappointed? Wordlessly, she turned away, and started back to her own office. Suddenly Bill felt bad for turning her down. He knew that between his job and his duties for the order, he didn't really have time for it, but she had looked so crestfallen at his refusal. She probably didn't have many friends here, he thought. Come to think of it, he had never seen her just chatting to a co-worker; she always seemed so professional and formal. And here he was, the one time she reached out in a more personal way to anyone, sending her away.

"Wait," he called after her, just before she opened the door. "Okay. I can't promise a regular time, but we can meet over lunch or after work, and I'll help you as well as I can."

She turned to look at him, her face positively shining, and Bill felt a slight tug at his emotions from the veela charm. He took a calming breath, dissipating the feeling.

"Très bien, merci beaucoup...I mean, thank you. We can meet today, after work?" Bill glanced at the clock on the wall. Three o'clock meant only two more hours until she would be done for the day. He suddenly felt a little nervous. Why did he say yes? What was he thinking? He was a member of a secret organization, and could be called upon at any time. But he'd gone and put his foot in it now.

"All right. Come by my office when you're off."

For Fleur, 5 pm couldn't come fast enough. At least, until about 4:45, when she suddenly found herself getting very nervous. In just a few minutes she would be talking to him, spending time just the two of them, outside of the safety and innocuity of the office. What if he turned out to be different than she thought. It was easy to be the perfect man when he was just a half-realized thought in the back of her mind, but the reality was probably very different. And what if he didn't like her?

'Don't be silly,' she told herself. 'What boy has ever turned you down?'

'He has, or almost did,' whispered a nasty little voice in her head. 'He hardly seems to notice you half the time, and has never shown any signs of attraction to you.'

'But he agreed, he said he'd do english lessons with me.'

'But he didn't want to, did he? He probably just felt sorry for you, he must have noticed you don't have any friends,'

By the time five o'clock arrived, Fleur had almost talked herself out of going at all. She could just go out another way, not have to go by his office. But then he would surely ask her about it the next time he saw her, and she couldn't avoid him forever. She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. No, she would just go, and whatever happened would happen. Taking a moment to check her reflection, she tucked a few wayward strands of hair back behind her ear, straightened the files on her desk, and headed for Bill's office.

Bill finished packing up his things, putting a few folders into a leather messenger bag to look over later. He was just locking his office door when Fleur came round the corner. She gave him a nervous sort of smile, and he walked with her through the back halls of Gringotts, and out through the front doors. He really didn't know what to say or how to begin, and Fleur wasn't helping him out.

"So, er, how..." he began, at the same time as Fleur started

"Should we go..."

"You go ahead."

"No, you first."

Bill smiled at the awkwardness of the situation.

"Why don't we just go for a walk around Diagon Alley," he suggested. It was warm and pleasant, with a soft breeze, and after being inside all day he liked the idea of a good walk. Also, walking meant there was less pressure to talk, and would diffuse some of the tension between them. Fleur nodded in agreement, so they started to walk slowly up the street, towards the Leaky Cauldron. "You know, you're English is already pretty good. I think you just need practice using it in a day-to-day setting. Why don't you just start by telling me a little bit about yourself, your family, whatever you're comfortable with." Fleur nodded.

"D'accord. Um...I 'ave lived my 'ole life in France, until zis summer of course. I 'ave one sister - you probably saw 'er at ze Triwizard Tournament, she is only nine years old. My best subjects in school were arithmacy, charms, ancient runes, and transfiguration."

"Those were most of mine too," commented Bill. "I was always pretty good at potions too, and might have enjoyed it if it weren't for Snape."

"Snape?"

"The potions master at Hogwarts. You must have seen him - long, greasy black hair, hooked nose, looks like he hasn't had a good laugh in his life."

Fleur smiled at his description, probably remembering the dour-faced teacher at the Hogwarts staff table.

" 'E looked like a great...chauve souris." Bill creased his forehead.

"I don't know ze English...it's black, comes out at night, flies around..." Fleur flapped her arms helpfully.

"A bat?" Bill laughed at her imitation. "Yeah, I suppose he does a bit. Maybe he's an animagus"

"Anima...?"

"You know, people who can transform into animals."

"Oh, oui, devinanimaux. English is...animagis?"

"Animagus."

The laughter at the potions professor's expense eased the remaining discomfort between them, and they spent the next couple of hours wandering through Diagon Alley, chatting amicably. It wasn't until almost seven thirty that Bill realized how long it had been, and that he was supposed to be at Grimmauld place at seven for dinner and a meeting that night.

They were close to the end of the street by now, not far from Ollivanders.

"Fleur, I've just remembered I was supposed to meet my family for dinner tonight - is it okay if I leave you here?" Fleur looked a little bit disappointed, but she nodded.

"I live nearby. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow." Bill reached for his wand to apparate to Grimmauld Place.

"Bill."

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. I enjoyed talking with you." Bill smiled.

"So did I," he answered, and disappeared.

"There you are Bill. I was getting worried about you - look how thin you've gotten-"

"I've always been thin, mum."

"And now working full time and for the order - half the family's in the order now, makes me worried sick, if anything were to happen to any of you-"

"I'm fine mum, I was just...talking to a colleague from work, and lost track of time."

"Severus has been wanting to talk to you, he won't say what about, and you've practically missed supper-"

"Snape?" Bill suppressed a grin, thinking of his conversation earlier. "Alright, I'll talk to him. Is he still here?"

"He's in the sitting room, but at least have a bowl of soup first. You work too much, you need to eat more."

"Alright mum."

Bill carried his bowl of soup with him into the sitting room. He may not have liked Snape much, but he knew Snape wouldn't have asked for him unless it was important.

"Mr Weasley."

"Mum said you wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes. Have a seat." Bill sat, and Snape made a small movement with his hand. The door swung shut, and Bill knew that there was a silencing and imperturbable spell on it. "The Dark Lord is gathering strength, and looking for allies. He has developed a particular interest in Goblins; they have unique and powerful magical abilities, and secret knowledge that he believes would be very useful to him, and I am inclined to agree."

"He's interested in goblins...How do you-"

"It doesn't matter how I know, suffice to say that I do. What I need to know from you is how likely they are to join him, what he would need to do to to convince them, what might incite them to resist him." Bill sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the tie that kept it back.

"It's hard to say...they're complicated creatures, goblins, and slow with their allegiances. They tend to favor whichever sides seems to be winning, but they'll be watching out for their own best interest first. They're definitely disgruntled with the ministry, and their status in current wizarding society, and with humans in general. On the other hand, they're unlikely to be treated any better under Voldemort, and many of them know that. I don't think many will join him willingly, but I wouldn't hope for any heroics on our behalf either." Snape nodded, his black eyes glittering.

"What is it, would you say, they most want?"

"The right to carry wands. They have their own secrets, but they're jealous of our wandlore." This had been a sore point among many of the goblins Bill had known, "and to have their laws and traditions respected, especially concerning goblin-made items." Snape nodded again.

"Thank you Mr Weasley. Please let me know if anything else relevant comes to mind. Try to assess the Gringotts goblins leanings, and keep me informed. We can't afford to be caught unawares." Snape stood, unsealing the door, and swept out, his black robes billowing behind him. Bill heard the front door open, then close, and Snape was gone.

Bill stood and took his empty bowl back to the kitchen. He was about to open the kitchen door, when something stopped him. He had a bad feeling about it, and he sensed some kind of spell over the door that hadn't been there before.

"Fred. George. Whatever you're planning, undo it so I can put my dishes back in the kitchen."

There was a sound of distant swearing, and the twins came down the stairs.

"Bill! How on earth do you do that"

"You're going to ruin all our fun, carrying on like that, won't he, Fred."

"Quite so. Terribly unsportsmanlike. It was only going to be a small explosion after all."

Bill shook his head, realizing he was going to get nowhere with the twins, and drew his wand. A brief probe told him all he wanted to know, and with a complicated movement of his wand the door suddenly swung open, entirely explosion free. Fred and George wore identical expressions of horror, but Bill just shrugged.

"Curse breaker."

The twins followed him into the kitchen.

"So Bill, how's the new job going?"

"All right, I suppose. It's a desk job. I miss the tombs, though."

"Here, let me take that for you." George lifted the bowl out of Bill's hands and sent it floating magically towards the sink, a little too exuberantly. Fortunately Fred was on hand to repair it. Bill looked from Fred to George suspiciously.

"Dear old Snape was very eager to have a chat with you."

"Don't bother trying to butter me up. You know I can't tell you order business." Fred and George looked disappointed, a look which quickly shifted into their customary scheming. Eager to head them off before they got started on revenge-planning, Bill just said the first thing that came to mind.

"Did you talk to Fleur Delacour at all while she was at Hogwarts?" The ploy worked - the twins looked completely derailed - but he suddenly found himself wishing he hadn't brought her up, as they eyed him shrewdly.

"Not really. Ron asked her to the Yule Ball."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Said she caught him off guard, veela charm and all that. He ran away before she could answer." Fred chuckled. "Why do you ask about her?" Bill just shrugged.

"No reason."

George gave Fred a significant glance.

"No reason, as in, you've never met her, can't have seen her except in passing, have no reason to even know her name, yet three months later bring her up for no reason at all? Or no reason as in, you have some as yet unknown information to share with us, concerning dear old Fleur. What do you think, Fred?"

"I lean towards the latter. Do tell, dear brother."

Bill sighed.

"She's got a part time job at Gringotts." The twins grinned at one another.

"And..."

"And I sometimes see her around the office."

"And..."

"And she's actually interesting to talk to, if you don't get distracted by the veela-ness"

"And..."

"And what?" Bill was getting frustrated by now.

"Come on Bill, devilishly handsome chap like you isn't just going to 'talk to her when you see her round the office.' Have you asked her out yet?"

"No, nothing like that. She just...wanted some help with her English."

"So..." Fred prompted. "She wanted help with her English, and..."

"It's like pulling teeth, talking to Bill, isn't it Fred?"

"So, I might be giving her...you know, some help. Like English lessons."

Fred and George looked gleeful.

"So you're giving Fleur Delacour 'private lessons' in 'speaking English.' Now that's got to be a consolation for having to take a desk job."

Bill sighed. It was pointless, really. Let them have their fun.


	4. Ambitions

Fleur stood in the late afternoon sunshine outside of Gringotts' intricately carved and ornamented facade, trying to memorize it. She had a hard time sketching things from memory; if something was in front of her she could draw it, but otherwise it was more difficult, and never came out looking quite right. She had tried to draw Bill after she returned from home from the tournament, before she knew his name or anything about him. She got his jawline right, and the angle of his nose, but her rough sketch just didn't have...something, and didn't end up looking like him.

She glanced down at the small sketchbook in her hands, flipping back through the pages until she found her first sketch of Bill. She examined it for a moment. Maybe it was his eyes. The eyes in all of her drawings didn't look right, since the end of her seventh year. They always came out looking cold and sightless. Cedric's eyes. She gave an involuntary shiver, trying to banish the memories that still haunted her, and thought of Bill again.

She still felt a little giddy when she thought of the absurd chance of their meeting. That he would happen to be a friend to Harry Potter, so that when she and he both happened to be chosen for the tournament that just happened to be held in the one year she could compete in it, he would be there when she was. That he had lived in Egypt until the very month that she had applied to work for Gringotts, and just happened to be coming back to work for the same company at the same time she was. And then, to top it all off, that he would just happen to walk right into her office, and remember her name!

Fleur looked back up at Gringott's front door, then turned away. She started to sketch an outline of the door, filling in the details as she went. After a few minutes she had a passable sketch, and turned back towards the bank. It was close, and the details she had drawn were fairly accurate, but the proportions weren't quite right. She frowned in concentration. The door was a little wider and not so tall, and the marble columns were more prominent than in her picture. Turning to a new page, she took another look at the building, then turned around to sketch. She felt a little better about it this time; the doors looked right, but she wasn't sure about the tympanum over the archway. She turned back around to get another look.

"What are you doing?"

Fleur jumped a little as she came face to face with Bill Weasley.

"I am sketching."

"Are you sketching Gringotts Bank, or the entrance to Knockturn Alley across the street? Only you don't seem to be able to decide."

Fleur didn't understand what he meant for a moment, and turned behind her - there was the gloomy looking entrance to Knockturn Alley. She realized that her turning back and forth, facing towards the bank then away to sketch, probably looked odd to someone who didn't know what she was doing.

"Gringotts then." Bill was looking over her shoulder at her sketchbook.

"Oui, Gringotts. I am trying to draw it from memory, but I can never get it quite right."

"Looks pretty good to me..."

Fleur held her sketchbook up so that he could see, turning back a page.

"I 'ave drawn zis one first. You see, ze...la proportionnalite, I do not know ze English..."

"Proportionality?"

"Oui, ze 'eight and width in comparison..."

"Yes. Proportionality."

Fleur laughed. "It is ze same in English?"

"So it seems."

"Anyway, ze proportionality is not correct, with ze door and ze columns." She turned the page. "Zis one is better, but le tympan is not right." She sighed, closing her sketchbook.

"What are you doing 'ere anyway, Bill?"

"Actually, I work at Gringotts bank. I have a desk job in the security department, but this French girl from international relations keeps coming by and distracting me. Fortunately she only works part time, and wasn't there today." He had a very serious expression on his face, but she could see the laughter in his eyes.

Fleur tried to look haughty and disdainful, but realized she was failing. Bill grinned at her as she smiled unwillingly.

"Are you going somewhere this evening?" she asked.

"Nope. Nothing to do. Want to do another English lesson?"

"Oui. Zere is a good cafe near mon appartement, if you would like to get dinner?"

"Sure."

* * *

"So how long have you been drawing?" Bill asked, as they sat outside the small wizarding cafe just down the street from Ollivanders.

"Forever, I suppose," Fleur answered. She had always loved to make pictures, whether it was finger painting, drawing in the sand at the beach, or coloring with crayons. "At least, as long as I can remember."

"Did you ever think about making a career out of it?"

"Not really. It was...an escape for me. I don't think I would 'ave enjoyed making my art my work. "

Bill nodded.

"I know what you mean. My brother Charlie is brilliant at quidditch - could've played professionally if he'd wanted to. But he's too mellow for the pro-player life. He didn't like the idea of all that pressure to perform, intense training every day, so much riding on every match. I think he was afraid he would start hating it."

"What is 'e doing now?"

"He works with dragons in Romania."

Fleur laughed.

"Do all of your family leave 'ome for absurdly dangerous jobs in other countries?"

Bill shrugged his shoulders and returned her smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"And you?" she asked. "Do you 'ave a passion?"

"A passion?"

"Oui - something you love to do, like your brother loves quiddich?"

He didn't answer immediately.

"I don't know about a passion. I don't think there's anything I really loved from the start like Charlie loved to fly. But I came to love some of the things I did. Curse breaking was like that. I pursued it because I was ambitious, I knew it fitted my interests and I wanted to travel, but it wasn't until after about a year of doing it that I really came to love the job."

"What made you decide to go to Egypt?"

Bill laughed.

"Actually, I wanted to go to Cambodia."

"Really? Why?"

"Have you heard of Angkor Wat?"

Fleur shook her head.

"It's this ancient Hindu temple in Cambodia from the 1100s. Muggles know about the surface structures, but there's all kinds of catacombs and hidden chambers underneath it. The Hindu mages built them as a refuge and hoard for magical artifacts and treasure, and put all kinds of protections over them. That's where a lot of the curse breakers were going before I started, and I thought it would be amazing to go halfway round the world, see exotic places in Asia."

"So 'ow did you get sent to Egypt?"

"Well, the Egyptians were a lot cleverer about hiding their magical tombs and treasure than the Cambodians were. For a long time we thought that most of their magical sites were either destroyed or had the curses wear off, and been discovered, raided, and explored by muggles. But right before I started, they had a breakthrough with an Egyptian concealment spell, and started finding tombs and treasure all over. When I was offered a place on one of the first curse-breaking teams to go there, I couldn't turn it down."

They were interrupted by the waitress bringing their dinner; Fleur had ordered a small roast chicken pennne with pesto, but Bill had an odd sort of pastry or pie.

"What is zat?" she asked, as Bill picked it up with his fingers and took a bite out of it.

"It's a cornish pasty." He took another bite. "A delicious cornish pasty."

"A cornish pastry? Why do you eat it with your hands?"

"Pasty. Good wholesome English food. It's tradition, got to be eaten by hand. But what about you?"

Fleur was a little confused.

"I 'ave penne with chicken and pesto."

Bill laughed.

"Not your food. What made you want to come to England? Surely it wasn't the cuisine."

Fleur shifted a little uncomfortably in her seat. Why had she come to England? It had seemed like a good idea at the time. But it would sound silly to say that. One did not just move to another country because it 'seemed like a good idea.' Of course, if she was perfectly honest with herself, part of the reason was sitting right in front of her. But she couldn't very well say that either. 'Actually, I saw you at the triwizard tournament and couldn't stop thinking about you, so I started looking for jobs in England so that I could hopefully see you again.' She settled on most of the truth.

"I was interested in traveling, working in other countries. Gringotts 'ad ze position open in England, and I thought it would be a good place to start."

"So you want to keep traveling?"

Fleur shrugged.

"Maybe. I would like to see more of ze world. Maybe I will see Egypt and Cambodia someday as well."

Bill grinned.

"So you might just travel the world, working whatever jobs you can in other countries to pay for it?"

"I don't know. " Fleur thought that idea had some appeal. It probably would have had a lot more appeal had she not met Bill here in London. But now she was here, sitting in this cafe talking to him, she didn't think there was anywhere else she'd rather be.

"I think I like England. Maybe I will stay 'ere for a while."

"Even if it means you have to keep working for the _petites betes_?"

Fleur blushed at the memory of her outburst, how she had come out of Monsieur Anceneau's office only to find Bill had heard the whole thing. God, she had wanted to just crawl under something and hide. Bill must have seen her expression, because he laughed.

"It's alright, you know. I've called them much worse at times. Once, in Egypt, I was working on this particularly difficult tomb, and the Goblins were putting a lot of pressure on us to break into it quickly. My boss came in and said 'Bill, your leading on this tomb. The Goblins want it broken by next week.' I hadn't slept hardly at all that night, and I just snapped at him. 'Well tell those greedy, lazy misers that if they want their treasure by next week they can damn well come and get it themselves.'"

Fleur smiled a little.

"Of course, then one of the Gringotts Goblins comes down the stairs, and says yes, that was the general idea. Merlin, I thought I had just lost my job."

Fleur put her hand over her mouth, half horrified, half trying to contain her laughter.

"But you did not lose your job?"

"No. The Goblins are proud, but they are more self interested" he chuckled. "They tend to view humans are rude, uncouth creatures anyway. They don't really care how you dress or talk. If you show you're good at your job, as long as you keep doing it well and don't betray any secrets, they're not likely to get rid of you."

* * *

That night Bill apparated home to the Burrow. He was met with an enthusiastic greeting from Ron and Ginny, whom he hadn't seen since the triwizard tournament.

"Bill! You're here!" A small, reddish missile hit him in the chest, and he laughed as he hugged his sister back.

"Good to see you too. Hey, Ron."

"Bill - can _you _tell us what's going on? Mum and Dad won't say, and the twins are being infuriating about it."

"Sorry, I can't. No, really -" he said at the expression of disbelief and annoyance on Ron's face, "I actually _can't_. Magical secret. Fred and George can't say anything either, but they probably just want to lord it over you that they know something you don't. You'll find out soon enough, anyway."

"But why do they get to know what's going on, and we don't?"

Bill shrugged.

"That was up to mum, I think. Probably because they're of age now."

"Bill, there you are. Will you come help me with these boxes?" Molly Weasley was standing in the kitchen doorway, looking rather tired. "Ron, have you got everything you need packed yet?"

Ron made a noise of protest.

"How am I supposed to know what to pack if you won't even tell me where we're going?"

"Just pack all you think you'll need for the rest of the summer and school. You'll find out soon enough."

Ron didn't seem satisfied with his mothers answer, but stomped up the stairs to his room nonetheless.

"And tell the twins to come down, they've been shut up in their room all day," she called after him.

Ginny followed Bill into the kitchen, where his mother was shrinking a few pieces of kitchenware to about a quarter of their normal size and putting them in a box, muttering to herself about whether Sirius would have one of these, and would it be better if they had an extra of those.

"You know, you can always come back if you leave something you want," Bill reminded her. "It's not like we're moving permanently."

"I know," his mother sighed. "I'm just worried, and packing helps distract me. How are you, Bill?"

"I'm worried too." He glanced over at his sister. "Ginny's too pretty, mum." His mother just smiled over at her daughter, who seemed to be undecided between taking offense and appreciating the compliment.

"I'm serious. Every time I see her she's more beautiful, and I don't like it. And what's this I hear from the twins about a boyfriend, now?"

Molly straightened up quickly.

"A boyfriend? But you never mentioned him, Ginny!"

Ginny did not look particularly pleased that at the turn of the conversation, and looked daggers at Bill. She was spared any further questioning, however, by the arrival of her father.

Arthur looked tired, but glad to be home. He sank into a chair, his head in his hands.

"Fudge is being as tiresome as ever. Flat out refuses to believe that You-know-who is back, won't even consider taking precautions, and always coming up with new conspiracy theories about Dumbledore..."

"I thought Percy was coming home with you?" Molly asked, summoning a glass from the cupboard to pour her husband a drink.

"He'll be here soon. Said he had an announcement to make."

Percy arrived about fifteen minutes later, looking more than usually pompous and officious.

"Good evening, everyone."

"Hello, Percy," said Bill. "How have you been?"

"I am excellent, thank you William. In fact, I have some news to deliver." He stood up even straighter, puffing out his chest. "I am pleased to announce that I have been promoted to Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic."

Molly gave him a small smile, but his father did not look particularly impressed.

"And did the minister comment as to why he requested you for such a lofty position?"

Bill noticed his father's tone was rather less mellow and kindly than usual, and took it as a bad sign. Percy seemed to notice as well, and bristled slightly.

"I would hope he chose the best man for the job."

Ron came down the stairs, accompanied by Fred and George.

"Hello, Percy."

"What's this about a best man?" Fred asked.

"Percy, you're trying to decide who's going to be your best man? Congratulations! Who's the lucky lady?" George grinned at his eldest brother, who did not smile back.

"Percy's just got a promotion," Bill murmured to the other Weasley boys. All three looked a little confused.

"Percy, weren't you just in a lot of trouble at work?" Ron asked the obvious question. "I mean, why would you get promoted in the middle of an inquiry?"

"The inquiry was resolved, and it was determined that I did not make any breech in Ministry protocol," Percy answered a little defensively.

"Son," Arthur began slowly. "You know how close our family is to Dumbledore. Fudge knows, and he suspects -"

"I don't see what that has to do with anything. Minister Fudge clearly recognizes my service and loyalty to the Ministry of Magic."

"What do you mean, your loyalty to the ministry?" Arthur's voice had a definite edge to it now.

Percy looked defiant.

"I mean, that I have made it very clear that I support ministry policy and the maintenance of public order, even in the face of unsubstantiated rumors being spread by certain groups, particularly supported by Albus Dumbledore."

There was a palpable tension in the room now, and Arthur no longer looked exhausted, but wide awake.

Bill spoke up. "Hold on a moment, Percy. You're not saying you actually believe all of Fudge's rubbish about Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore -" Percy began, tersely, but his father cut him off.

"- Is precisely the point. Fudge is paranoid and suspicious about Dumbledore's activities. He knows how close we are to him, and what better way to keep tabs on him than to have a Weasley as his personal assistant."

Percy went very white, though the tips of his ears flushed red.

"That's what you think, is it? That I couldn't have attained such a position on my own? Did you think that just because you were content to sit in your backwater little job in muggle artifacts, that I would have no ambition either?"

His voice was rising. "Did you think I liked having to be known as 'Arthur Weasley's son,' trying to show that, unlike you, I was actually good at my job and cared about my career? Did you think that I liked being poor, never having enough money for new robes or shoes or books?"

His mother flushed.

"Percy! It's not your father's fault that we - anyways, we've always managed to -"

"Not his fault?" Percy was shouting now. "I'm trying to make a name for myself, make a career, and he's off consorting with people like Albus Dumbledore-"

Arthur rose to his feet. "Dumbledore is probably the only hope the wizarding world has, now that Voldemort's back."

Ron, Molly, and Ginny all cringed at the name, but it just seemed to make Percy even angrier.

"Dumbledore is heading for trouble, trying to undermine the Ministry of Magic, and anyone who can't see that is an idiot."

Now Arthur was shouting too.

"The Ministry of Magic policy is nothing more than Cornelius Fudge's insecure, paranoid, power hungry, self-deluding -"

"If you want to get dragged down with Dumbledore, fine. I know where my loyalties are, and so does the Minister. And if you are going to turn traitor to the Ministry, then I'll just have to make it clear that I have nothing to do with you, or any of this family!"

Percy disapparated with an unusually loud pop, and they heard some muffled thumps and stomping from upstairs. Then there was silence.

The Weasley family, minus one, stood still in the kitchen as though petrified. Ginny was the first to move, walking slowly up the stairs towards Percy's room. A minute later, she came back into the kitchen.

"He's gone," she said quietly. "A lot of his things are gone too."

Arthur sank slowly back into his chair, looking more exhausted than before, and Molly suddenly burst into tears. Her husband reached for her hand and pulled her into a hug. Bill left the room, following the twins, Ron, and Ginny. None of them knew what to say, so they all collapsed onto armchairs and sofas in the sitting room.

There was a sudden knock on the front door. Bill rose to answer it, and came face to face with Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. Moody gave him terse nod in greeting, then stepped inside.

"Ready to go?" he growled. He reached into a pocket of his cloak, and drew out a piece of parchment, unfolding it to reveal a brief note written in thin, slanting handwriting.


	5. Duties

Authors Note: On 'Reviews.'

I have always felt a little uncomfortable 'reviewing' other people's stories - I'm not an author or an editor, and what does my opinion matter anyway? I would probably, like most people, end up putting something like 'This is really good, keep it up,' 'I liked the part where so-and-so said such-and-such,' or 'You confused their, there, and they're a lot.' Therefore, I would like to unofficially rename that little button at the bottom of the screen. The new name is 'Talk to the Author.'  
I sometimes wish I could just have a conversation with some of my favorite authors about their characters, about scenes - how they made me feel, how they reflected or impacted or conflicted with my personal convictions, whether I saw a character in a different light. If you think my story is worth reading, I would love to know why. If you hate it, I would kind of like to know why as well. I think most of us don't read stories (especially sentimental romances like this one) just to kill time, with no emotional reaction to them. Stories touch us; if they didn't, why would we waste time with them?  
Maybe someday I will be so busy and famous that I can't answer all my fan mail, and will just send autographed pictures to anyone who writes me. But that time hasn't come yet, and if you are reading my story I would love to have a conversation with you about why, how it makes you feel, what parts are poignant to you or annoy you or confuse you. If you like the idea, please feel free to 'Talk to the Author.'

* * *

All in all, the general mood was less than cheerful as the Weasleys moved into Grimmauld Place. It didn't help that the Black ancestral home, while certainly large and grand, was also dirty, dark, and generally unsuited for human habitation. Sirius, at least, seemed positively delighted to have company, though most of the family was wary of him at first. After all, they had spent a good thirteen years thinking he was a mass murderer, and with his long dark hair, sunken, pale face and hollow eyes he certainly looked the part. However, he made such an effort to make the family feel welcome that even Molly Weasley couldn't mistrust him for long.

Bill helped out with some of the unpacking, much of which turned out to be unnecessary. Sirius' house had all of the kitchen amenities one could want, though they were rather dusty and tarnished. Over the next several days, Molly set the children to work cleaning, dusting, and repairing the old house, though it became immediately apparent that the job would be rather more dangerous than expected. Apparently, Sirius' family had a liking for curses, and a penchant for putting them on anything they considered valuable or private.

"Thank goodness you're here, Bill," his mother exclaimed, as he removed what seemed like the fiftieth curse. It was on an old writing desk; the bottom drawers had been charmed to cause anyone who tried to open them to experience painful stomach cramps and vomiting, as Fred had unfortunately discovered.

"These are nothing, mum," Bill gave her a wry smile. "In Egypt, some of the curses would make you grow extra limbs, or drive you so insane that you would kill yourself, or -"

"Yes, that's enough." His mother interrupted him. "Just another reason I'm glad you're back."

"Yeah, I'm so relieved to be far away from those dangerous tombs. Here in England it's so much safer; all we have to worry about is a homicidal, power hungry dark wizard who apparently can't be killed and is hell-bent on taking over the world."

His mother gave him a reproving look, but didn't reply. There was a sudden trampling and creaking as the twins came thundering down from the attic. A few seconds later, a shrieking, screaming sound came up from the ground floor, and Bill and his mother dashed downstairs. Fred and George were apparently alright, but covering their ears and staring at a portrait of a mean looking old woman, who was screaming and spouting obscenities.

Bill tried several silencing charms, but none of them seemed to have any effect. Sirius came up from the kitchen to join them, and pulled on the ornamental curtains hanging on either side of the portrait. Seeing what he was trying to do, Bill joined him, and together they managed to pull the curtains across the woman's picture, silencing her immediately.

"Good heavens, boys, what did you do to her?" Molly rebuked the twins.

"Nothing mum, she just started screaming," protested George.

"It's alright," interrupted Sirius. "She does that. Nasty temper, had my mother."

"You're mother?" Bill asked, somewhat taken back. Sirius grimaced.

"Yeah. I've tried to get her to shut up, or take her portrait down, but it's got a permanent sticking charm that I can't seem to get undone."

"I can try, if you want," Bill offered. He raised his wand, probing the portrait. Sure enough, it was bound with all kinds of curses, charms, and spells. He explored them for a few minutes, but soon realized it would be very difficult to remove the portrait.

"Wow. Whoever put her up knew what they were doing. I don't know if I could remove that without taking out half the wall around it."

"Well, we'll just have to put up with her then." Sirius gave a grim smile. "I managed it for a good fifteen years, I can go a little longer."

* * *

"Fleur?"

There was a knock at her office door, and Monsieur Arceneau entered, carrying a file.

"Could you take this over to Antonio Benelli's office? It's about that transfer from Hungary, the Almasy and Pulaski account."

"Oui, about ze extra security for ze lodestones?"

"Yes. There's also a template in there for the charm layout, if you could have Bill Weasley look over it as well?"

"Of course."

Fleur headed over to the security offices. Mr. Benelli's office door was closed and locked, and no-one answered when she knocked. She went round the corner to Bill's door, and found it open.

" 'Ello, Bill. 'Ave you seen Monsieur Benelli today?"

Bill looked up from a complicated diagram on his desk.

"What? Oh, hi Fleur. What can I do for you?"

"Mister Benelli. I have some files for him..."

"He's not here today. I can take them." Bill stood to take the small stack of papers.

"Monsieur Arceneau said zere was a charm template in zere as well; 'e wanted you to look at it."

"Alright, I can do that." He sat back down and flipped through the file, pulling out the charm diagram. He spread it out on his desk and pored over it, murmuring softly to himself.

"Do you want to do an English lesson zis afternoon?"

"I'm afraid I can't. I've got...some family business to attend to this afternoon." He looked a little strained.

"Alright, later zis week zen?" He thought for a moment, then nodded.

"How about this weekend? I think I'm free sunday afternoon."

"D'accord."

Fleur left Bill to go over the diagram and headed back to her office. She thought he had seemed rather preoccupied, and a little standoffish. And why was he so busy all the time? It wasn't as though he had an extremely time consuming job; Mr. Benelli only came in about three or four days a week.

She sat down at her desk. Her own job was pleasant enough; now that she had established herself a little, she was doing less mindless paperwork and more coordinating with different departments. The Almasy - Pulaski transfer was like many of the cases she took part in. Mr. Almasy in Hungary was selling a fairly large quantity of valuable magical lodestones to Mr. Pulaski in Poland, and naturally Gringotts International was providing the transfer services. The lodestones had to be under careful magical containment, as well as being secure, and a rather large quantity of Gold had to be moved from Poland to Hungary.

As part of the international liaison team, Fleur had talked to the Polish bank which Mr. Pulaski used, to the Finance Transfer office, to the Portkey Division (Gringotts was one of few organizations authorized to produce and use portkeys independently from the ministry), and of course, Magical Security. It gave her a feeling of accomplishment, knowing that she was helping to coordinate all of these different groups of people in three different countries.

But she had never really considered banking as a long term career. Where would she be in ten years? It was exciting, being in England, spending time with Bill. But he was a curse-breaker at heart; she knew he had come home to be closer to family, yet he admitted he missed Egypt. He wouldn't stay here working a desk job forever. He would be here for a while, then go off to find some new adventure in some far-flung place. And she'd be here, alone in a foreign country with no real friends, working a job she'd mostly taken on a whim. What would she do? Go home to France? Then what? She wanted to do something worthwhile, be a part of something important. Gringotts was a stepping stone, not a calling.

Then there was her nonexistent social life. She found it hard to be friends with other girls, who always seemed jealous of her appearance and affect on men. And male friends were generally out of the question. They never wanted to be 'just friends,' and it was tiresome to be around foolish boys who stared and practically drooled. It was hard to imagine not being beautiful, not being the center of attention, but sometimes she wished for it a little.

Bill was the exception. When she was with him she didn't feel like she was the most beautiful person in the room. In fact, she had the oddly freeing experience of feeling that she was rather unimportant, that she was nothing particularly special and didn't have to be the center of everyone's attention. With him, unlike most of her life, Fleur was just a normal person, not an object or a symbol or a rival.

'Normal!' she thought. 'Wouldn't that be something?'

Ever since she had started school she'd been the prototypical overachiever; beautiful, ambitious, independent, always doing well at everything. For a moment she imagined what it would be like to be normal; not having to be the best at everything, just finding someone who loved her, getting married and having children, living in a cute little cottage, maybe by the sea somewhere. And she realized, with a little bit of surprise, that there was something appealing about the idea.

* * *

As Bill gradually took on more duties for the order, it became increasingly difficult to find regular times to meet with Fleur. But despite his busy schedule, he made an effort to find the time to spend with her. Sometimes they would get lunch together, sometimes dinner after work. Occasionally they would make arrangements to get together over a weekend, and walk along the Thames, enjoying the fading summer heat. Bill had been pleasantly surprised to find her engaging and thoughtful, and not nearly as haughty and proud as she sometimes appeared.

She definitely could rub some people the wrong way. She was opinionated; she knew what she liked, and she tended to be quick to judge. She was also intelligent and competent, and sometimes had little patience for those who were less so. If she thought that something could be done better, she had no problem making her thoughts known, and if there was a mistake or a problem, she wasn't one to mince words towards whomever was responsible. He knew that some people who worked with her didn't appreciate that, but privately Bill found her 'speak truth to authority' attitude refreshing, especially given his own family's frustration with the Ministry of Magic's current policy.

August dwindled into September, and the weather grew steadily cooler and wetter. The younger residents of Grimmauld place left for school on September first, making the big house seem more gloomy and empty than ever. The twins were no longer around to place booby-traps on every door and try to listen in on secret order meetings, but that was little consolation in the depressing silence of the old house. Sirius seemed to take it particularly hard; when Harry was around he had looked about ten years younger, but after he left for school he was less cheerful and more reserved.

The change in weather meant that Bill and Fleur took less walks and tended more towards meeting indoors, often in restaurants or cafes. Fleur's english steadily improved, her accent becoming gradually less pronounced, and her vocabulary larger. Bill in turn was beginning to pick up a little basic French, and their conversations became more complicated as they came to understand each other better.

"So it's Je vais, tu vas, il va, but when you get to nous and vous it becomes allons and allez?"

"Oui, Oui. And for future tense, it becomes ira - J'irai, tu iras, il ira."

"Well that doesn't make any sense. What an absurd language."

Fleur laughed at Bill's pretense of disdain.

"It makes no less sense zan English. You _go_ somewhere today, you _will go_ somewhere tomorrow, but you _went_ somewhere yesterday and your friend has _gone_. Just as strange."

"I dunno. There's only maybe four conjugations for go in English, whereas there's about a hundred in French."

They were sitting in a cafe near Hyde Park, with hot tea (Bill insisted that tea-drinking was a requirement for learning the English language), looking out at a rainy autumn evening. Fleur just smiled at Bill, and sipped her tea.

"Maybe zat is just because ze French are more intelligent, and can make use of a more... sophisticated language."

"Maybe...good use of sophisticated by the way, haven't heard you use that one in a sentence yet. I'm not sure I'd say more intelligent - more arrogant, maybe."

Fleur's face fell a little. Not quite sure what he'd done wrong, Bill hastily added "I didn't mean you personally. I was only joking, anyway..." But Fleur shook her head.

"I am, you know. Or at least, I 'ave been." Bill didn't know quite what to say. "Arrogant. Conceited. 'aughty. All of zose. I never realized I was doing it, really. I never 'ad much trouble in school, never really struggled in anything I tried to do. I suppose I always just assumed zat people who didn't do as well as me just weren't trying as 'ard. But because of zat, and per'aps because of how I look, other people...what is ze word?"

"Resented you?"

"Oui, resented it. I told myself zat whatever zey thought didn't really matter. I was rude, and selfish. I stopped feeling bad about turning down boys who asked me out, I just spoke my mind about anything I didn't like, and didn't care if I offended anyone."

She shook her head, looking miserable, but Bill smiled.

"You still do that last one sometimes. Actually, it's one of my favorite things about you." Fleur looked back at him, and managed a small smile in return.

" 'Ow do you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Make me smile, even when I am miserable and don't deserve it."

Bill laid his hand over hers.

"None of us are perfect, Fleur. Actually, I think we all tend to be pretty miserable. The trick is to notice when we're miserable, and try to be better." Bill withdrew his hand, and took a last sip of his tea.

"Come on, the rain's let up. Allons-y."

Fleur stood up with him.

"You know you're accent is terrible."

Bill grinned.

"At least I remembered the words. I should get some credit at least."

They walked back towards Diagon Alley together, and parted ways at the Leaky Cauldron.

"See you - er, _à demain_."

"Oui, until tomorrow."

* * *

Bill arrived on the front steps of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He shivered; he'd apparated directly from his flat, and left without putting on a jacket. Though the October morning was clear and bright it was also rather cold. He opened the door and quickly stepped inside, but before he could close it there was a quiet pop from behind him and Albus Dumbledore appeared on the doorstep. He opened the door further to let his old headmaster in, and shut it behind them.

"Ah, thank you William."

Molly Weasley met them, coming down the stairs to the kitchen.

"Oh good, Bill, Albus, you're here. That's everyone - we're meeting down in the kitchen."

They followed her down the stairs, where sat most of the Order of the Phoenix. Sirius and sat at one end of the table, with Mad-Eye Moody on his left and Remus Lupin on his right. Tonks was sitting next to Remus, slightly closer than was strictly necessary, while Mundungus was next to Moody but had slid his chair as far away as possible from the grizzled auror. Dumbledore took the seat at the end, opposite Sirius, while Bill sat down next to his father and Snape.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Thank you all for coming. What I wish to discuss this morning is a matter of the utmost secrecy."

He paused for a moment, and a troubled expression passed briefly over his wizened features.

"There was a prophecy made, fifteen years ago, concerning Lord Voldemort. It connected him with a child, who had not yet been born, but would supposedly grow to posses power enough to destroy him. That child turned out to be Harry Potter."

This statement was meant with a shocked silence. At last, Sirius spoke.

"So that's why..." His voice cracked. "James and Lily..."

Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"I'm afraid so. Voldemort sought to destroy this potential rival at the earliest opportunity." He sighed heavily. "It was for Harry that he went to the Potters that night."

Remus looked confused.

"But, Harry lived? Why did Lily and James...I mean, if he was there for Harry..." He trailed off.

"Yes, Harry lived. Fortunately for us, Voldemort did not hear the whole of the prophecy, and acted rashly. Had he heard the whole thing, and understood it, I do not think he would have gone done what he did. As for why he killed Lily and James...Voldemort has never needed good reason for killing, and the Potters had given him as much reason as many he killed, and more than most. But as for how things now stand; Voldemort still does not know the full contents of the prophecy, which is a great advantage for us and a great disadvantage for him. However, he now understands more of his mistake, and will doubtlessly seek to acquire the record of the prophecy held in the Department of Mysteries."

Moody, always quick on the uptake, got straight to the point.

"So because Fudge still has his head in the sand, it'll be up to the Order to keep a guard on the Hall of prophecy at all times then?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"We will have to divide the duty among order members not otherwise engaged. I am not well liked in the ministry, and have a school to run in any case. Remus, you may be called on to take some shifts, but I have another task in mind for you. Obviously Arthur, Alastor, and Nymphadora, as Ministry employees, will be already well placed for the duty."

Sirius spoke again.

"I'm guessing my name won't be on that list," he said slowly. Dumbledore shook his head.

"It would be foolish to risk it, sending a wanted fugitive into the heart of the Ministry."

Sirius flushed a little, obviously rankled by the reminder of his unjust punishment.

"I didn't spend twelve years in Azkaban and two on the run just to sit in my parents house, watching the walls mould."

"Unfortunately, you seem to be useful for little else," Snape muttered derisively.

"Severus, please." Dumbledore gave Snape a sharp look. "Sirius, I know it is difficult to remain here, and you have my gratitude for providing your house. I do not doubt your valor, loyalty, or skills, and there may come a time when brave deeds must be done without consideration of caution. But I do not believe that time has come yet, and I am not willing to risk losing you again so soon after gaining you."

Sirius looked as though he would have liked to argue the point, but kept his peace. Dumbledore drew his wand and gestured over the table. A large square of parchment materialized on it, covered with complex spidery lines. The order leaned closer as Dumbledore spoke again.

"This is a diagram of the Department of Mysteries."


	6. Hopes and Fears

Fleur paced around her flat, trying to while away the time. She tidied her already neat bedroom, cleaned her already shiny kitchen, and rearranged her shoes. She had picked up a pencil to sketch half a dozen times, only to set it right back down and go back to pacing. Bill would be getting off work early in just under an hour, and they were planning to take advantage of what was likely to be one of the last nice days of the year to have a walking 'English lesson' in Hyde Park.

Bill confused her sometimes. He was simultaneously intriguing and infuriating. Sometimes she would think he might be attracted to her, especially when he touched her or showed affection for her. But he gave none of the obvious signs she was so used to getting from practically every male she ever met. He talked to her normally, didn't stumble over his words or stare at her. He seemed completely unaffected, even when she tried to use her limited veela magic, which wasn't often - she'd never needed to try before. He was polite, and kind, and seemed to really listen to her in a way she thought no-one really had before, but sometimes he could be distant. He seemed to have a lot of family events to attend, but was curiously vague when she asked him about any details, and though he would sometimes talk about his childhood or his experience in Egypt, he would soon stop himself and ask more about her.

Fleur sometimes got the sense that he was concealing something from her, and that he was deliberately keeping her at a distance - but why, she couldn't understand. If he didn't like her, why did he spend so much time with her? And if he did, why didn't he seem to want her to get any closer? She checked her reflection in the mirror for the umpteenth time, and finally left for Gringotts with about 15 minutes to spare, not wanting to wait any longer. She made her way quickly into Diagon Alley, and walked briskly through the light, monday afternoon foot traffic. When she got to Gringotts she walked inside and started to head automatically towards her and Bill's offices. She was only about half way there, passing by one of the Goblin's accounting halls, when she caught a flash of red hair. Doubling back, she noticed Bill in a far corner having what looked like a very serious discussion with one of the Goblins. As she stood there watching, he suddenly looked up and saw her. He continued talking for a few moments longer, then broke off the conversation, excused himself, and came over towards her.

"You're here early."

"What were you talking to the goblins about?"

"Oh, er...I was just confirming with Ragnok about some particularly tricky security arrangements. Can't really talk about it too much, client privacy and all that." Fleur was about to ask why he would be talking to one of the executive accounting goblins about security, but he seemed to sense her question and spoke first. "So, ready to go?"

She smiled and nodded, but wondered about it nonetheless.

The last sunny day turned out to be beautiful for most of their walk. They passed by an underground station, and Fleur commented on the ingenuity of the Muggles.

"It is rather amazing zat zey 'ave invented so many ways of doing things without magic."

Bill chuckled.

"You sound like my Dad. Nuts about all things muggle, thinks they're brilliant."

"Your father works in ze Ministry, doesn't 'e?"

"Yeah. Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. He loves it, gets to be around muggle things all the time. You said your father is an author?"

"Oui. 'E used to be a teacher at Beauxbatons. 'E as written several books on charms, but 'e says 'e prefers writing stories." Fleur smiled to herself, remembering some of the bedtime stories he told her when she was younger. Even as she got older, she would sit with her father and Gabrielle and listen to the stories he told her before bed.

The walked along the serpentine lake and gradually lapsed into a comfortable silence for a bit. Fleur watched a distant patch of clouds scoot across the horizon.

"I was reading ze newspaper yesterday. It said something about Albus Dumbledore, ze 'eadmaster at 'Ogwarts."

"Hmm?" Bill's reply was casual, but she noticed he'd become slightly stiffer than usual.

"It said zat ze ministry 'as been considering trying to replace him, zat 'e is getting old and senile. 'E 'as already lost many of 'is official positions."

"Yes, he has."

" 'E didn't seem at all senile when I was zere last year."

"No, he wasn't."

"But now...what 'appened?"

Bill looked over at her silently for a moment before speaking.

"Last year, after the tournament, he started saying that...you-know-who had come back"

"Yes, 'e told us zat in 'is speech at ze end. 'e said zat-" she looked around, then whispered the name, "_Voldemort _killed Cedric Diggory. Zat 'e 'ad returned."

"The ministry didn't like that very much. They've been trying to claim that Dumbledore's just getting old, that none of it's true."

"But 'ow else do zey explain Cedric's death?"

Bill shook his head.

"They caught one of Voldemort's supporters at the school. He said the dark lord was coming back, but the ministry said he was mad, and gave him to the dementors before he could give testimony."

"But zat is absurd!" Fleur shook her hair out of her face. "Zey cannot just deny it! Zey must fight! Who will protect us, if ze ministry will not even admit we are in danger?"

Bill didn't say anything in response, but she could tell he approved by the way his eyes sparkled at her, even though his fists were clenched by his sides. She looked back out at the clouds, realizing they had come much closer, promising rain. Bill seemed to see what she was looking at, because he muttered

"Better start heading back. Looks like rain."

And rain it did. They were about halfway back to Diagon alley when it started, and before they reached the Leaky Cauldron it was absolutely pouring. Out in the middle of muggle London they couldn't very well just apparate out of it either.

Bill shouted over the falling water and the passing traffic.

"My flat's just down the street - come on, we can dry off there." Together, they broke into a run, finally tumbling through the door and into his flat. Bill unbuttoned his coat and put his bag on a coat rack, then they just stood there for a moment. Fleur looked up at Bill, breathing hard from their run, soaking wet, and started to laugh. His face cracked into a smile, and soon they were laughing together, dripping water all over Bill's carpet. They gradually calmed down, and Fleur found herself noticing how Bill's wet shirt clung to his chest under his open jacket, how his red hair turned darker and hung around his face, and how little droplets of water ran down his chin and neck. He took a step closer and leaned towards her, and she felt her pulse increase, her cold hands get suddenly warm. She half closed her eyes, tilting her head back, waiting for him to close the distance between them.

But the kiss never came. Opening her eyes, Fleur realized that he had been reaching behind her to get his wand out of his bag. She was confused for a moment, until he muttered a spell and she felt a sudden warm breeze blow over her whole body. She realized a moment later she was no longer wet and, to her slight disappointment, neither was he. Apparently not noticing her distraction, Bill put his wand in his pocket, slipped his shoes off, and started to walk towards the kitchen.

"I'll put on some tea. You can make yourself comfortable in the sitting room." A little dazedly, Fleur slipped off her own shoes, which were no longer soaked through, and followed him down the hall until she saw the sitting room on her left. She walked to the window and gazed out at the rain. She heard Bill come in behind her, and turned around. He was holding two steaming mugs of tea.

"Just how you like it." Bill held out the mug in his left hand, and she took it with a smile. Bill liked to tease her about how much milk and sugar she liked in her tea; he didn't seem to think it was proper.

"Is zat your family?" Fleur nodded to a picture full of red headed-people standing in front of the pyramids in Egypt, waving and laughing. Bill turned to follow her gaze.

"Yeah. A couple of years ago, Dad won a prize drawing in the newspaper, and the whole family came to visit me in Egypt. I think seeing the tombs - some of them still have skeletons from muggles who wandered in and got cursed - made mum worry about me being there. She kept hinting at how nice it would be if I could come home more in her letters after that. It probably didn't help when Fred and George - those are the twins, on the right there - tried to lock Percy - he's the one wearing the hat - in one of the burial chambers." He grinned. "You should have seen her face. Percy was..." He suddenly trailed off, looking a little uncomfortable, and Fleur sensed that there must be some family trouble concerning Percy.

"Who is zis?" She pointed at a slightly shorter and somewhat stockier boy standing next to Bill in the picture.

"That's my brother, Charlie. He's the one who works with dragons in Romania. He was at the Triwizard Tournament for the first task." Bill still looked a little uncomfortable.

"And zis is your sister?"

"That's Ginny. Mum dotes on her, seeing as she's the only girl among all us boys, but I think she's a lot more like Fred and George than mum realizes. I sometimes feel bad for spending all that time in Egypt - I haven't really gotten to see her very much. She's almost eleven years younger than me, so I left for Hogwarts when she was only about one. We had a little time together after I graduated, but then I left for Egypt."

"It must be nice, 'aving such a large family."

Fleur had sometimes wished she had more family than she did. With family you didn't have to pretend, or prove yourself. Family loved you for who you were, not what you did or looked like. Bill looked at her thoughtfully.

"Sometimes it is. As the oldest, I always felt I was supposed to be the responsible one - and the more the family grew, the more important it seemed that I do well, and take care of the younger ones." Bill grinned. "Maybe that was part of why I wanted to travel. I always did really well in school. William Weasley, Prefect, twelve OWLs, Head Boy, so responsible. Then I ran off to Egypt, grew my hair long, and become a curse breaker."

"I'd like to meet your family."

Bill looked suddenly uncomfortable again. He sipped his tea, looking at the picture, and didn't say anything in response.

"You came back to be closer to zem, no?"

"Yes..." he answered slowly. "It seemed like a good idea, since..."

"Since what 'appened last spring," Fleur finished for him quietly. He nodded slowly. There was a dark look in his eyes that she hadn't seen before, and it unsettled her a little.

"I 'ave dreams about it, sometimes."

Bill looked back at her.

"I dream about ze third task...when ze scarred 'Ogwarts professor stepped out in front of me with 'is wand raised. I dream about Cedric..."

She trembled, her teacup shaking in her hand. " 'Is face, when 'Arry brought 'im back...ze way 'is eyes were open, but zey saw nothing..."

Bill set his own mug down, and took her cup out of her trembling hands, placing it next to his. Slowly, he pulled her close to him, wrapping her in his strong arms as tears began to flow. Tears that she had never shared with anyone, that had sometimes come after a terrified awakening alone in the middle of the night, that she had hidden and suppressed. Now he held her as the fears rose back to the surface, rubbing her back as they all poured out.

"I thought, 'zat could 'ave been me,' and I felt 'orrible for being glad zat I was still alive, when 'e 'ad died. And I was so afraid - I am still so afraid."

"It's okay now." Bill whispered by her ear. "You're all right. You're safe here." And she held on to him and cried into his shirt.

* * *

Fleur woke up slowly, feeling a soft light across her face. She stretched a little and opened her eyes, looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Turning over, she took in a fairly tidy bedroom, with a wooden, antique-looking dresser and a small bookshelf in the corner. Slowly the memories started to come back. She remembered crying herself to exhaustion in Bill's living room, and him carrying her into his bedroom and setting her gently on the bed.

On a nightstand by the bed, she saw her clothes from the day before neatly folded. She was still wearing her thin cotton undershirt from yesterday (and her bra, which was a little uncomfortable), but her jeans had been changed out for a set of too-big pajama pants which probably belonged to Bill. She blushed slightly - she didn't remember him changing her trousers, and wasn't sure how she felt about that - but she did remember him tucking her under the covers, and though she wasn't sure, she thought she remembered a soft kiss on her forehead just before she fell asleep.

She rose and wandered out into the hall, looking for the toilet. It was a fairly small flat and she found it easily, between the bedroom and the kitchen. The sofa in the sitting room had a small pile of folded blankets on it, showing where Bill must have slept last night, and on the kitchen table she found a note in Bill's slightly untidy but legible handwriting.

_Dear Fleur,_

_Sorry for leaving you alone, but I had to go to work and I didn't want to wake you. I hope you're feeling better this morning. I made some breakfast - it's over by the stove._

Fleur turned to look, and saw a plate with scrambled eggs, toast, and sausages next to the range. There was a knife and fork next to it, and the eggs were still steaming; Bill must have put a warming charm on it to keep it hot. She carried back to the table to finish reading Bill's note.

_Help yourself to whatever you like. There's orange juice and milk in the icebox, and tea and cocoa in the cupboard to the right of the sink. _

_Your clothes are cleaned and pressed, though not as neatly as I wanted - those household sorts of charms mum insisted I learn finally came in useful, I suppose, but I never was much good at them. I looked away while I changed your trousers, if that makes you feel any better - I didn't think jeans would be comfortable to sleep in._

_You can stay here as long as you like, but I don't think I'll be able to get off work until five tonight - I have a meeting I have to go to during my lunch break. If you need anything, you can reach me by floo. _

_ - Bill_

Fleur smiled as she read Bill's note. He was so thoughtful, and always seemed to know just what she needed most. She laughed a little at the thought of him trying to get her into his pajamas without actually looking at her, and then felt herself flush as she involuntarily imagined him taking off her jeans under different circumstances. If his kiss were not chastely on her forehead, but hungrily on her lips, if she was peeling off his shirt at the same time... She shook her head to rid herself of the tempting image.

'Don't be silly Fleur,' she told herself. 'Now is not the time to let your imagination run away with you.' She tidied up her dishes and went back to the bedroom to put her clothes back on. As she sat down on the bed, she couldn't help but notice how it smelled of Bill. Clean, but slightly of leather, and the tiniest hint of something sweet and fresh in his shampoo. She lay back down on his bed, breathing deeply, and wondered what it would be like to wake up here every morning - only with him next to her, instead of on the sofa.

She shook herself again, and dressed quickly. It was almost painful, staying in his home, sleeping in his bed, almost being able to pretend she had something she'd secretly wished for. But he didn't wish for it, did he. Did he? Usually adept at picking up on the subtleties of men, she just couldn't tell with Bill. She slipped into her shoes and coat and left, locking Bill's door behind her. She had to get outside, go for a walk, clear her head.

Fleur had gone out with plenty of handsome young men, but never felt like this before. Bill had a way of filling her with calm faith and frantic uncertainty at the same time; he seemed so steady and reassuring, yet he was mysterious and wouldn't talk much about himself. He made her feel at home, and yet sometimes when she looked into his eyes she felt lost and uncertain, and a little afraid. She knew the leather boots, long hair, and earring were just how curse breakers dressed, that he was strong but kind and gentle, yet she sensed there was a dangerous side to him as well. He fascinated her, and she realized that she could imagine spending the rest of her life figuring him out.

For the first time, Fleur thought she might be falling in love.


	7. The Best Ones Do

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's sent me messages/reviews. Several people are begging for quicker updates, so here's the next chapter. It's a bit short, but kind of sweet I think. Let me know if you like it.

* * *

Bill stared at the complicated diagram on his desk. It was a detailed drawing of a new vault design, showing the different materials and proposed magic to be used. He was supposed to be preparing a brief to show exactly how the spells ought to be combined, or if there were any potential problems with the materials. Different materials responded differently to certain kinds of magic. If done properly, the right combination of spells matched with the right materials could make a vault practically impenetrable. A mistake however - too much iron, too little silver, too many curses without enough supporting spells - could make the vault unstable.

Bill had once seen a tomb where the Egyptian mages had made such a mistake. It was powerfully sealed and warded, with curses of such potency that even some of the most senior curse-breakers were stumped. Bill had been as well, and in his frustration he kicked a stone at the door. To his surprise, he'd felt a ripple of magic as the wards shuddered. Sandstone, while very good at holding curses, lacked the underlying support for deep magic of marble or granite. Bill had found a weak point in the rock, and banged away with a muggle pickaxe. Once he had opened a small hole, the curses destabilized, and could be removed easily.

Right now, however, Bill was having a hard time concentrating on the design proposal in front of him. Despite his best efforts, and his good relationship with the goblins, he felt it was unlikely that he could convince them to provide any real service in the war. He didn't think it particularly likely that Voldemort would have more luck, but that was little consolation with such a short list of allies. Snape was particularly grumpy lately, as Voldemort's power waxed and he began considering how best to influence the giants. Dumbledore had sent Hagrid and Olympe Maxime as emissaries, but from the little they had heard back from them so far, it hadn't gone particularly well.

Then there was Fleur. Their relationship, at first strictly business, had grown into an increasingly solid friendship. Her English had improved, and as he got to know her better he came to respect and care for her more and more. Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd always had a warning voice, reminding him that he was a spy for the Order, that developing a new, close relationship now was both foolish and dangerous. But spending time with her made his strenuous double life somehow easier to deal with. It was a breath of normality, of peace and companionship that was becoming harder and harder to find as war loomed closer.

Since last night, however, things seemed more complicated. Fleur was becoming an important part of his life, and he hated lying to her, making up excuses for why he had to disappear all the time. He wanted to tell her the truth, wanted to be able to share everything with her, be as open with her as she had been with him. Unfortunately, as much as he might not like it, he simply couldn't do that. It was as much for her sake as his; to reveal the existence of the order would be practically tantamount to inducting her into it, making her a target in a war that was already too close for comfort.

Bill sighed, striving to pull his attention back to the task at hand which, despite his lengthy reminiscence, had not used its free time productively and was no further along than the last time he had looked at it. They could be friends, he decided. He wouldn't, couldn't sacrifice their relationship because of the war. But he had to remember that his duties came first, and to be careful lest his personal feelings affect his judgement.

* * *

Fleur walked aimlessly for a few minutes, but eventually her feet carried her along one of the familiar paths that she often walked with Bill. Eventually she made her way towards the river, wandering through Victoria Embankment Gardens. It was cold and cloudy, and in the middle of a work day, so she was mostly alone as she walked between the statues. It was a curious feeling, being alone in the middle of a city, but the truth was she had always felt alone, even when she was at school or work. She was set apart by her blood, by the way she looked, and by the way she herself held others at bay, using her disdain as a veil to hide her fears.

Until she met Bill. With him, she didn't feel alone any more. She wasn't isolated by what she was, because he honestly didn't seem to care. And with him more than anyone else, she wasn't afraid to let him see her fear, her secrets, because she knew he would accept her no matter what.

She sat down on a bench, looking up at a statue of some famous muggle politician. There was no denying it now. She was completely in love with him, and she didn't know if he had even the slightest romantic feelings toward her in return. His kindness last night almost made it worse; he would see her like he saw his sister, to be cared for and comforted, but not as a woman to love. Fleur shook her head in frustration.

"Men!" she huffed out loud, to nobody in particular.

"I know exactly what you mean, dear." Fleur turned around quickly, startled, too see a little old lady behind her looking up at the statue. Fleur must have been too caught up in her own thoughts to hear her approach.

"Oh, I, er..."

"Sorry, did I give you a fright?" The woman smiled.

"Non, I was just a little surprised. I was lost in my thoughts I suppose."

"Some silly boy got you all of a fluster, does he?" Fleur looked at the old lady for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know."

"Did something stupid, did he?" The woman's voice was warm, and her eyes shone with memory. She must have been close to eighty, but Fleur thought that she might once have been very beautiful.

"Not really."

"Ahh," the old lady nodded knowingly. "So it's more what he hasn't done then." Fleur nodded back slowly. "I'll tell you right now, he's either blind or a total fool if he doesn't notice a beauty like you. Of course, I think sometimes we women tend to fall hardest for the ones that don't notice us. I know I did."

"You did?" The woman's openness and shrewd guesses left Fleur a little disarmed. The woman laughed.

"His name was Alfred Worthing, and I think I was twelve years old when I fell in love with him. He was a year older than me, lived down the street, and _so _handsome. We played together as children, and even when we had to leave for school - they had separate schools for girls and boys back then - we saw each other over the summer." She sighed.

"I used to bake for him, bring him Christmas presents. I never forgot his birthday. But to him I was always just little Sally down the road. By then it was getting into the depression, and things were harder. We were better off than most, but it wasn't easy, and Alfred made it harder. Nearly broke my heart when I found out he had a girlfriend. Eventually they stopped seeing each other and I started to hope. But then the war came. I cried so hard when Alfred left for the war...I thought I would never see him again."

The old lady sniffed and reached in her pocket for a handkerchief. "Silly isn't it? You'd think after about fifty years I'd get over it, wouldn't you?"

"Did you see 'im again?" Fleur asked, as the woman dabbed at her eyes. "Did 'e come 'ome safe?"

"He came home," the woman nodded. "He was badly wounded in the leg, never healed properly. Always walked with a cane and a limp after that. And he was shellshocked; had to see and do such terrible things, it took him a long time to get used to being just a normal person again. He wouldn't even talk to me for weeks, even when I came to the hospital."

"Why not?" Fleur didn't understand. The old lady shrugged and sat down next to her.

"I think he believed that after what he'd been through, there was no way anyone could love him, could think he was anything other than a monster. And he'd seen so many of his friend's get killed...he was afraid to let anyone get close."

"So what did you do?" Fleur was curious, and desperately hoping the story would have a happy ending.

"Well, he was released from the hospital and came home, but he still wouldn't see anyone. Eventually I lost my patience. I went over to his house and started banging on his door. I must have stood there for half an hour, and finally he must have gotten tired of the noise. He came to the door, looking all depressed, and told me he didn't want to talk to me. But when he went to close the door, I stuck my foot in it. I told him, 'Alfred, you're an obstinate fool. You open this door at once or you will regret it for the rest of your short life.'"

Fleur laughed a little at that.

"Did 'e open the door?"

The old woman smiled triumphantly.

"Didn't have much choice in the matter, did he?"

"And what did you say to 'im?"

"Well," she began. "I was pretty hopping mad by that point. I almost hit him. But he was just standing there, leaning on his cane, looking so miserable, that I couldn't bring myself to do it. Finally I said to him, 'Alfred Worthing, you absurd, silly man. I don't care if you're wounded and I don't care about what you had to do in the war. I love you, and I won't stand for you locking yourself away. I love you, more than all the world, and I've waited for you for nearly ten years, and I'll be damned if I'm going to wait any longer."

Fleur couldn't help but giggle a bit at this tiny old woman who must have been nearly eighty, imagining her in her early twenties shouting down a wounded soldier.

"So what did 'e say to zat?"

The old lady sniffed again, and smiled.

"The last thing I expected. He started to cry."

" 'E cried?"

"Yes. There I was, all worked up and angry, and suddenly tears were running down his face, and he was on his knees in front of me. I didn't know what to say. He wrapped his arms around my waist and just cried."

"But..." Fleur didn't understand, but the old lady went on.

"Eventually he calmed down a little, and managed to stand back up. And then he said the queerest thing to me. 'Sarah,' he said. 'Sarah, you saved my life.' He took my hand, and he led me into his bedroom, and opened the top drawer of his dresser, where he kept his uniform. He reached in, and he pulled out this heavy looking locket that was all bent and broken. The glass was shattered on the inside, and there was a deep indentation that went almost all the way through it, as if a bullet had hit it. Inside, he had a picture - I don't know where he got it - of the two of us playing together. We can't have been more than twelve or thirteen when it was taken. He looked at me for the longest time, and then he said, 'I wore this over my heart.'"

Fleur smiled, holding back tears of emotion.

"Did you marry 'im?" The old lady nodded.

"We were married the next spring. He was always a silly, obstinate, foolish man, but I loved him 'till the day he died. That was about...almost ten years ago now, but I still have a hard time going on without him. Probably won't have to go too much longer now, though." The old lady stood up, giving Fleur a sad smile.

"He'll come to his senses, dear. All the good ones do, eventually."


	8. Trust

Author's note: Sorry for the longer wait; it's midterms week, so my attention has been mostly elsewhere...You'll get more and longer chapters soon. If you're reading my story, I really would love to hear from you by pm or review, and I'll actually write back if you have questions or comments, or just want to have a conversation about the characters. Enjoy.

_

* * *

_

Bill finally made his way home, the vault schematic in his bag. It had taken a good bit of convincing to get Antonio to let him take such a confidential document out of the bank, but Bill insisted that he would be able to get valuable work done on it tonight, and they would be ahead of schedule instead of behind. He was supposed to be on duty at the department of mysteries that night, and he would have plenty of time to check over the schematic then. It would help keep him from falling asleep, at least, during the long night alone. He collapsed onto his bed as soon as he got home, hoping to catch at least a few hours sleep before he was needed.

The duty turned out to be as dull as ever, the upside of which was that he managed to complete his review of the new vault plan. He only suggested a few minor alterations, mostly concerning the use of platinum as a medium for identity support charms, which allowed the Gringotts goblins and no-one else access to the most secure vaults. The downside was that when he got off at four in the morning, he once again had only a few hours before he would have to head back to work.

Bill stumbled into his office forty five minutes late the next day, and collapsed into his chair.

"There you are, Bill." Antonio was leaning into his office. "You'd better have that schematic for me, or the Goblins will have my head."

Bill nodded.

"Yeah...looks mostly good, but I made some alterations with the platinum..."

He dug the plans out of his bag, and Benelli looked over them briefly.

"Good work, Bill...I wouldn't have thought to place the runes like that, but it would counteract the variable rejection tendency..." Not up for technical jargon on so little sleep, Bill just nodded again. His boss looked at him critically. "Did you stay up all night working on this?" Bill shrugged vaguely.

"Something like that..."

Antonio shook his head.

"Don't kill yourself Bill. It's just a vault plan. By the way, Ragnok asked to see you - said you were to come and talk to him privately as soon as you get in."

Bill perked up a little at this. Ragnok had been avoiding him a little bit as of late - if now he wanted to see Bill, maybe he had been swayed towards a more positive stance against Voldemort.

"Also," Benelli continued, with a slightly knowing smile, "There was a very pretty young lady from international relations wondering where you were this morning. Seemed a bit concerned that you hadn't shown up for work today, asked if you were sick. You might want to drop by, let her know you're all right."

Bill just scowled at Antonio, waving him away. He ought to drop by Fleur's office, see how she was doing - he hadn't seen her since Monday night, and she'd been pretty upset then. But he really had to talk to Ragnok; his duties to the order came first.

As it turned out, it wasn't until almost five that he made his way to the foreign liaison offices. Ragnok had been a little more conversational, but had doubted Bill's promises of rights for goblins. He'd done his best to assure Ragnok that the wizarding world would try to improve the treatment of other magical beings, and the Voldemort would certainly do the opposite, but Ragnok was mistrustful.

"Why should you? You need us, you want our help against the Dark Lord, but when you are done using us, why should you care for our well being? The Goblin Nation will not be swayed by vague promises. You are a good wizard, as wizards go, William Weasley, but we have little reason to trust your kind."

Bill sighed heavily as he went to find Fleur. It was frustrating, but he had to admit that Ragnok had a point. The ministry had a long history of turning a blind eye to the needs and demands of other magical races, and the goblins had no reason to forget it. He was just outside of his office when he ran into her.

"Zere you are. I was beginning to worry zat you were ill."

"I'm fine. I just had a long night, trying to finish up a project for Benelli."

Fleur looked at him critically.

"You look terrible."

Bill cracked a tired grin.

"No need to spare my feelings - tell me what you really think."

Fleur smiled back at him.

"I think you are a foolish boy, who works much too 'ard. 'Ave you even eaten today?"

Bill realized he hadn't - he'd slept too late, and had to rush to work, then talked to Ragnok over his lunch break. Seeing the look on his face, Fleur shook her head and took his hand.

"Come on. Work is finished today. You're going to 'ave a decent meal, and get some rest."

She apparated them back to his flat, where she immediately began going through his kitchen cupboards. Bill sank helplessly into a chair.

"Fleur, what...?"

"Absurd," she muttered to herself. "Nothing at all worth eating. You stay right zere." She fixed him with a glare, and disappeared into the living room. Bill heard the sound of a fire starting, then the rush of the floo. A few minutes later and she was back, laden with two bags full of groceries.

"Fleur, you don't need to -"

"Don't be silly, Bill. You need to eat. Now go and change, and I'll make you a proper French dinner."

She had the stove heating, a knife chopping vegetables, and a mixing bowl stirring in a matter of moments, and Bill just stared at her.

"Well go on." She gave him an encouraging smile. Bill heaved himself out of his chair and made his way to his bedroom. Catching sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, he smiled wryly. He did look terrible. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was disheveled and messy, with stray locks hanging down into his face. He took off his shoes and jacket and splashed some cool water over his face, then tried to make himself look at least mostly human again.

Bill wasn't exactly sure what Fleur made for dinner, but it was delicious. It seemed to warm him from the inside out, and ease his aching joints.

"Thank you Fleur. I suppose I needed that."

"Yes you did," she answered. "Feeling better now?"

"Much."

"Zen you won't mind 'elping me tidy up, will you." Fleur looked pointedly at the dishes by the sink, and Bill laughed.

"Sure. I've been getting better at that household magic." To prove his point, Bill waved his wand and the dishes immediately started washing themselves. He flicked his wand at a towel on the oven door, and it floated over to the sink to begin drying them. Fleur shook her head.

"Show off." Bill smiled, then sighed.

"You know, you really didn't have to do all this. I really appreciate it, but -"

Fleur silenced him by placing a finger over his lips.

"I wanted too. You took care of me when I needed it most. It's the least I could do to make dinner for you." She rose, picking up her now considerably lighter bags. "I'll see you at work tomorrow," and with a rush of the floo she was gone.

* * *

As October passed into November and December, meals together became a more regular occurrence for Bill and Fleur. Most weeks they would end up at either his flat or hers on at least a couple of evenings, and Fleur insisted that Bill learn something about French cooking.

"Ze English 'ave no idea 'ow to prepare meat. Zey think that ze only way to cook anything is to boil it until it is tough and flavorless."

Bill thought of his mother's delicious cooking, and considered objecting to Fleur's broad condemnation of any food made by an English person, but he held his tongue. The truth was that he looked forward to every night they ate together, that her presence was gave a warmth in his heart that continued long after she had gone home or he had left. The knowledge that when he returned he would see her again was like a patronus, guarding him as he went on increasingly dangerous missions for the order.

On one particularly cold assignment in late November, Bill went with Remus Lupin to determine the location of the largest werewolf dens. It was Dumbledore's intention that Remus alone eventually make contact with some of them, to try to pursuade them to resist Voldemort's growing power. But for now, Bill accompanied him; his skill in tracing ancient magic proved useful, and they soon found several areas with high werewolf activity. That was easy enough, but to pinpoint their den took much more subtle magic, and was nearly impossible except near the full moon. Which was why he was lying alone in a tiny concealed tent under a snowy bush in Northern Engand, listening to screams and howls in the distance. Remus was outside - he had taken his wolfsbane potion, and so was not dangerous, but he was restless in wolf form, and could not stand being inside the tent.

Bill dozed fitfully, waking when a howl came too close for comfort, praying that his concealment charms were good enough. Theoretically, he would be practically impossible to find, even if a werewolf were looking for him. But out in the woods, with nothing but a few spells and some flimsy canvas between him and the ravenous wolves, his faith in his magic was less certain. He turned over, covering his head with blankets and tried unsuccessfully to get to sleep. He thought of Remus, out in the cold, of Hagrid, returning much the worse for wear from his unsuccessful mission to the giants. He thought of Dumbledore, striving to undo Voldemort's growing web, of Harry Potter, dragged into the middle of the war for reasons he didn't fully understand and were no fault of his own.

He thought of Fleur, who despite her sometimes haughty exterior was so gentle and innocent. He felt worse and worse every time he had to lie to her, and he knew she suspected something. But he couldn't involve her in this. It would be cruel, as it was cruel that Harry had to deal with a connection to Voldemort that he had never wanted. But Harry wanted more information, he thought suddenly. Harry wasn't mad or upset because he was forced to be a part of the war - he was mad and upset because he was being excluded. And if he was honest with himself, he knew that Fleur was brave and strong, and would certainly rather known the truth than be kept in the dark.

Bill's troubled thoughts gradually faded into dreams, until Remus shook him awake at about five.

"Come on. The moon has passed, but the magic has not yet faded. This is our opportunity."

Bill forced his eyes open and sat up, to his body's protest. Remus looked even more haggard and exhausted than he felt, his graying hair tousled and his face lined. Bill shook himself awake.

"All right," he said hoarsely. "Let's go find some werewolf dens."

* * *

Fleur was beginning to worry about Bill. At least once a week he showed up at work exhausted, as though he hadn't slept at all, and he looked more careworn all the time. Whenever they were together he seemed alright, but she could tell he was making an effort for her sake.

"Bill," she asked him one afternoon as they left work, "Why are you so exhausted all the time? You were almost an hour late for work today, and you look as though you 'aven't slept _again._"

Bill's face took on that uncomfortable look that he often got when she asked certain kinds of questions.

"I've had a project for work..."

Fleur interrupted him "I talked to Monsieur Benelli, and 'e said zat you do not 'ave near enough work to keep you up all night. 'E is worried about you, I am worried about you."

Bill sighed, slowing his pace a little. Fleur wrapped her coat a little more tightly around herself and waited for him to speak, but he remained silent. She knew the look on his face - it was the one he got when he was trying to figure out how much to say. It was usually best to wait and let him think; if she pressed him, he would close up and not tell her anything.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. It was cold, and the sky was the dull grey that showed winter had finally set in. Some of the shops had even begun to put up decorations for Christmas. Little fairy lights and strings of red, green and gold ribbon winked at her from shop windows, lit from inside by flickering firelight. She watched her breath billow and curl in front of her face, swirling into intricate patterns that vanished almost as soon as they were seen. At last, Bill spoke.

"Fleur, I'm going to be as open with you as I can be. I do have a project, something I'm working on, but it's very...sensitive, and I can't really talk about it. No-one's even supposed to know I have anything to do with it."

Fleur looked at him critically.

"Is that what all your meetings with Ragnok are about?"

He looked even more uncomfortable, but nodded.

"Sort of."

They kept walking, and Fleur thought over what he'd said. It would make sense; he was in security at Gringotts, and it was possible that he was providing protection for some high profile client, or something of the kind. But what about Benelli's denial? If there was some secret task wouldn't he have said something to suggest that Bill did have a lot of work? It would be a convenient excuse, if it was a Gringotts secret project. Unless Benelli didn't know - but he was Bill's superior in security, why would Bill be working on a secret project without his knowledge. And even then, why would Ragnok be involved? He was certainly one of the most influential goblins, but he managed Gringotts fiscal policy - why would he have some secret security project for Bill?

The explanation didn't entirely make sense, and it bothered her that Bill concealed so much from her. It hurt to know that he was deliberately keeping her out, even if he didn't want to. Bill didn't seems to look any happier about it than she did, and she realized that it must be as hard for him to keep secrets as it was for her to know he had them. Whatever he was doing, it was important, and she didn't want the fact that he couldn't reveal the details to her to keep them apart.

"Bill," she reached out and touched his arm, stopping him so he turned to face her.

"I understand. You can't talk about it, so I won't keep pressing you."

He looked so grateful for her words, it was like a weight was lifted from his shoulders, and his eyes lost a little of the exhausted look they'd had for the past few weeks. A tiny snowflake drifted down between them, followed by another.

"Thank you Fleur. I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, Bill." Fleur suppressed the sudden urge to kiss him, standing outside her flat in Diagon Alley, in the twilight at Christmastime, as the first snow of the year started to fall.

"I trust you."

I love you. But she didn't say it out loud.


	9. Foolish and Dangerous

Author's Note: Well I survived midterms, so here's the next chapter. As a student of psychology, I've been wondering lately: do guys read romance? I can't help but notice that most of my reviewers, at least, seem to be ladies (at least as far as I can tell from most of the pen-names and profiles - if I'm wrong, please feel free to correct me). Are the hundreds of anonymous hits made up in part of men who secretly like sentimental romance but won't comment on it? Or do they come across my story, read the first chapter and say 'mushy, boring,' and look for something else with more action? Random, I know, but one of the psych professors is really interested in gender, so I think about that kind of thing sometimes. Maybe I'll write some more action scenes with Bill fighting death eaters.  
Thoughts, anyone?

* * *

Bill lay awake in his bed. He knew he had told Fleur more than he should have, and from the look on her face she guessed more than she let on. But he just couldn't stand the deception any more. At least she now had enough of the truth that he wouldn't have to keep making excuses. He thought back to her last words to him that night, and he suddenly felt a little frightened. He felt she had entrusted him with something very precious and fragile, something he was not worthy of holding, and he was afraid that he might break it.

Being a member of the Order of the Phoenix meant that everyone was suspect, all motives were questioned, every detail inspected. Trust was a dangerous thing, slow to grow, and disastrous if misplaced. James and Lilly Potter were a tragic example of how dangerous trust could be. Yet she trusted him, knowing that he had secrets from her, though she had met him less than half a year ago.

It was a sobering thought. It made him feel older, reminded him of the sense of duty that had called him to the Order. But being with Fleur was freeing at the same time. It was easy to be weighed down by the long hours of the double life he led, to be overwhelmed by exhaustion and despair at a war that seemed less and less hopeful. But hearing her laugh, seeing the her nose wrinkle in disgust, her jaw set in determination, or her eyes twinkle with amusement would break through all that in an instant.

Even more precious was the way being with her made ordinary moments extraordinary. He remembered the way she held the whisk as she showed him how to make a proper French omelette. 'It needs love,' she had said. 'Sometimes magic doesn't 'ave ze same touch.' He remembered the way she had taken his hand, and apparated him back to his own flat to make him dinner. And he remembered her soft breathing, the serene expression on her face as she slept.

Bill awoke suddenly to a bright flash of light over his bed. He jolted upright, grabbing his wand off the nightstand, but there was nothing to be seen except a single golden feather lying on his sheets, next to a scrap of parchment.

_William. Your father has been injured on Duty, and is being taken to St Mungo's. Your family already know. Your Mother is going to see him now, you should go with her. A.P.W.B.D_

Slipping into some robes and throwing on his cloak, Bill apparated directly to St. Mungo's. The witch at the information desk looked up as he arrived.

"Arthur Weasley. I'm here to see Arthur Weasley, he's just been brought in." The witch nodded, briefly consulting her roster.

"First Floor, Emergency ward." Bill didn't bother with the stairs. He apparated directly there, appearing in an empty white hallway.

"Bill!"

He turned around quickly.

"Mum! Dumbledore sent a message. Is Dad alright?" His mother hurried to embrace him, shaking a little.

"The healers said he's stable, but he's lost a lot of blood. They just told me I could go in and see him if I wanted, but he's still unconscious." Bill turned towards a set of double doors marked EMERGENCY, wondering what he would find on the other side.

"Come on, mum." Slowly, he pushed the door open. A healer was standing next to a single bed, murmuring a soft spell. Bill took a step closer.

"Dad..." he whispered. Arthur Weasley was pale and unconscious, his right side and arm heavily bandaged.

"Oh Arthur!" His mum hurried to her husband's side, grasping his limp hand. The healer looked up at her.

"I'm just finishing a blood replacement spell. He's lost a lot, but he should be fine. He'll probably regain consciousness sometime early this morning."

Molly collapsed in tears, and Bill put his arms around her. A sudden flash of flame and Fawkes was in the room with them, a scrap of parchment in his beak.

"I think Dumbledore sent Fawkes so you could send a message to the rest of the family. Do they know?"

"Yes...They're waiting at home." Molly scribbled a quick note, and Fawkes took it, disappearing in another flash. She sat down in a chair next to Arthur's bed, and Bill conjured another in order to sit next to her.

They sat there in silence for hours that seemed like days, unless they were only minutes. There were no windows in the emergency ward, and it was impossible to keep track of time. Eventually, Bill realized he'd been dozing off, and his mother was asleep, her head leaning on her husband's shoulder. Suddenly his father stirred, mumbling incoherently. Bill sat up quickly, then stood and stretched, flicking his wand at the dim light by his father's bed.

Arthur stirred again, then suddenly opened his eyes.

"No! I won't! Don't let it..." He trailed off, not seeming to know where he was. His voice woke Molly, and she grabbed ahold of her husband's hand.

"Arthur, thank god!"

"Molly? Bill? What happened? Where am I - the department of mysteries! There was this giant snake-"

"It's all right, Arthur," Molly soothed. "It's safe. You're in St Mungo's." She began to cry again, wrapping her arms around her husband. "I was so afraid, I've been so worried about all of you, and now-"

"Shush Molly, I'm all right. I feel a bit woozy, but everything still seems to work." Arthur stroked her hair. "Bill, what are you doing here?"

"Dumbledore told me about the same time as Mum. What happened, Dad?"

His father looked around, making sure they were alone, and Bill stepped closer.

"I was on guard duty..." he said softly, and Bill nodded. "I must have dozed off for a second, because I didn't see it coming, but then this snake was suddenly right in front of me. I tried to stop it but it went for my wand arm first, then tried to get at my neck. I held it off, but it bit me several more times, and I knew I was bleeding a lot. Things started to get blurry and dark, and then I heard shouting in the distance. That's all I remember until just now."

Bill was a little confused.

"But, how did anyone know? You were alone down there, weren't you? There aren't even any portraits..."

"I don't know, Bill. I'm just glad they found me."

"And how did Dumbledore find out so quickly?"

Arthur shook his head again.

"Never misses a trick, that man..." He nodded sleepily.

"Get some rest Dad."

Molly was wiping her eyes, holding her husband's hand.

"He's going to be all right mum." Bill laid a hand on her shoulder. "I can take this morning off work to stay with him. "

His mother nodded.

"I suppose I should get back and tell the children - they must be so worried."

"You get some rest too, Mum. Dad is."

His mother gave him one last hug, kissed his father on the cheek, and left the ward looking pale but calm. Bill sat back down in the chair by his father's bed, and drifted off to sleep.

He was awakened a few hours later when a healer came into the ward, carrying several bottles of potion. Bill stirred and opened his eyes to see his father already awake and smiling at him.

"Morning."

"Morning, Dad," Bill croaked in reply. The healer was checking his father's bandages and muttering to himself, dripping small amounts of various potions on an uncovered bite wound, which continued to bleed.

"Apparently there was something in the snake's venom that makes it rather difficult to treat these bites. Won't stop bleeding." Arthur's voice was mellow, but Bill could detect a very faint note of worry.

"Don't worry, Mr. Weasley" The healer spoke. "We've seen much worse. We'll just keep you on a blood replenisher until we find the right cure." He smiled. "My name's Hippocrates Smethwyck, healer-in-charge in the Dai Llewellyn ward. We're going to move you there now, if you don't mind."

He waved his wand and the bed levitated off its base, carrying arthur and his bandages out of the emergency ward. Bill followed them down the hall, until they reached another set of double doors, which read

'Dangerous' Dai Llewellyn Ward: Serious Bites

Healer Smethwyck set Arthur's bed down in the far corner by a window.

"Pye!" He called. "Pye, where are you?" There was no response. "The trainee healer, Augustus Pye," Smethwyck explained. "Brilliant young lad, but always running off somewhere. Take this now," he set a small potion bottle next to Arthur's bed, "and I'll be back in an hour to administer the next dose."

Bill again to a seat next to his father, while Arthur drank the blood replenishing potion. They talked quietly for a little, exchanging what little information they had, and making guesses about how Dumbledore had found out about the attack so quickly. Eventually they lapsed into silence. Smethwyck came back with another dose of potion, then left them alone again.

Bill thought of Fleur again, and once again felt guilty both for lying to her and for telling her as much as he had. He thought about how close his father had come to being killed - how close all the members of the order were. If something happened to her because of him, because he had brought her too close..."

"Something on your mind, son?"

Bill looked up. His father was looking at him curiously.

"I...I suppose so." Bill realized that if anyone could understand his situation, it was his father. He had half his family in the order and was trying to protect the other half from it, without pulling them into it or pushing them away.

"I've...er...met someone..." he began.

"Oh dear," said Arthur, though he was smiling slightly. "This must be serious."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm in the hospital after nearly dying, and my twenty-five year old son, who hasn't asked for advice about girls for nearly ten years, says to me, 'I've met someone.' Sounds pretty serious to me."

Bill smiled a little.

"It's nothing that serious. I just...I have this friend, and we've been spending a lot of time together. I feel bad that I have to keep lying to her about my work for the order, but it's dangerous and I'm afraid it will end up hurting her somehow."

Arthur sighed.

"You-know-who was already gaining power when your mother and I married."

Bill nodded.

"It wasn't uncommon, especially once the war started in earnest. I remember when Lilly and James joined the order...they were eighteen, just out of school, and so in love. They had got married right before they joined, and Molly and I worried about them. They were so young to be trying to start a family of their own, and in the middle of a war. I sometimes wonder if things might have been different, if they had waited, been more careful and patient.

"But we can't know know. Maybe they would have both been killed anyway, and little Harry would never have been born. Maybe the war would have been lost entirely, or maybe it would have been won, we can only guess."

Arthur laid his good hand on his son's shoulder. "I know that I'm glad I married your mother, that we had seven wonderful children in spite of all the danger. I have always believed that whether something is dangerous has no bearing on whether it's right. After all, it's because we did something foolish and dangerous that you're here at all."

Bill had to leave his father around lunch time - he had called by floo to let Antonio know he couldn't come in to work that morning, but he was needed in a security conference that afternoon. He thought about his father's words for the rest of the day; during his meeting, after work, and as he lay in his bed that night. Dad was right; danger didn't change what was the right thing to do. But wasn't protecting Fleur from the war the right thing to do? Besides, he and Fleur weren't like Mum and Dad, who had known each other for years, had gone to school together, and knew they wanted to get married by the time they were sixteen. They had only met one another six months ago, and weren't even romantically involved. It would be unfair to demand the kind of commitment from her that revealing the Order would mean.

Bill had a sudden image of himself and Fleur, at some indefinable point in the future after the war, with a home together, eating together every night, waking up every day in the same bed. The thought gave his heart a curious kind of ache, and he turned over, waking himself up a little more. Where did that come from? He hadn't even considered something like that with Fleur, and she...did she ever think of him like that? He turned over again. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally drained. Now wasn't the time to analyze his somewhat confused feelings for Fleur. At last, he drifted into the sweet oblivion of sleep.

* * *

Fleur hadn't seen or heard from Bill at all over the weekend, which was unusual, and when she saw him at work on Wednesday, he seemed a little more distant and preoccupied than normal. He disengaged from other people sometimes, when he needed to think or figure something out for himself, but he usually told her what was going on, and it rarely lasted longer than a day. She wondered if something had happened to draw him away from her; they had been getting on so well before. She'd almost thought she was starting to break through his defenses, as he finally admitted to some of the secrets she suspected. But now she felt like an outsider again, trying to figure him out without any clues.

Then he left work early, without saying goodbye. It shouldn't have been a big deal, except that Bill _never _left early, giving her a chance to come by his office so they could walk out together. She caught sight of his back just as he was leaving, and hurried to grab her own things. Throwing her coat over her shoulders, she hastened after him, finally catching him up just beyond the main entrance.

"Bill!" she called after him. He turned around, looking almost surprised to see her. "You are leaving early?"

Bill looked at his watch.

"It's five o'clock."

"Yes, which means you are leaving exactly on time, but you never leave on time, you always stay late, so by leaving on time you are leaving early."

Bill gave her a confused look, as though he was trying to determine whether her sentence actually made any sense. Whether he succeeded or gave up, she couldn't tell.

"Okay."

He just stood there awkwardly, as if he had forgotten how well they knew each other. Fleur stamped her foot on the ground.

"Stop staring at me as if you 'ave never met me before, as if you 'ave forgotten me! I'm trying to talk to you, and you're shutting me out!"

Bill's eyes finally gained a more present expression, and his shoulders sagged a little.

"I'm sorry, Fleur. I haven't forgotten about you. I just...I have a lot on my mind right now, and it's been a long several days." He looked at her apologetically. "Why don't you come over. I'll make that buoy-bess soup you've been trying to teach me to prepare."

Fleur couldn't help but smile a little at his offer, and his (probably deliberate) mispronunciation. It was impossible to stay mad at him.

"Bouillabaisse," she corrected, taking his arm. "If you are going to try to make it, I suppose I 'ad better go with you to 'elp, otherwise you will surely ruin it."

He was still more than usually quiet, but she felt closer to him as they walked together back to his flat.

* * *

Bill slipped quietly into number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He was met by Alastor Moody and Remus Lupin, who joined him as he made his way to the kitchen. Sirius was already there, along with his mother. Sirius shook his hand, and Molly gave him a brief but tight hug, and they sat down.

"Dumbledore's worried about Harry," Moody began without preamble. "Thinks Voldemort might try to use him to get at the prophecy."

"Use him?" Bill was a little confused. "Use him how?"

Remus spoke up.

"Harry has a...connection to Voldemort, through his scar. He has pains when Voldemort is close, or feeling some strong emotion, and sometimes has dreams about what Voldemort is doing."

"He had a dream when the snake attacked Arthur last week," Sirius added. "That's how Dumbledore found out so fast. Saved Arthur's life, no doubt."

"But it's dangerous," Moody went on. "Potter has a habit of acting of his own accord, without telling anyone. If Voldemort were somehow able to lure him into the department of mysteries..."

Bill nodded.

"Yes, I can see how that could be bad."

"We're going to increase the guard on the prophecy," said Lupin. "Can you take midnight shift on Christmas?"

Bill nodded. Midnight shift was 11pm to 7am, which would mean he would probably be sleeping most of Christmas day. His mother must have guessed his thoughts.

"It'll be hard having Christmas without you, Bill, but..."

"I know mum. The Order comes first, and this is important. I'll drop by to see you and Dad on Christmas Eve if I can."

"I expect Remus will come join you for a bit around three in the morning," said Sirius, looking at Lupin, who nodded wearily. It would be the full moon, and Remus never slept well on nights of his transformation, even if moonset meant he changed back well before morning.

"Dumbledore wants Snape to teach Harry occlumency just in case as well. I won't deny he's good at it, but I don't like it all the same, and I'm sure Harry won't either."

Bill couldn't help but agree. Extra lessons with Snape. That sounded almost as fun as spending the night before Christmas on guard duty.


	10. Who you are shines through

Author's note: I've been feeling a little inspired and done quite a bit of writing, so here's the next chapter. I think it's a good one :)

* * *

Gringotts was closed on Christmas eve, so this was their last day of work before the holiday. Fleur hummed softly to herself as she gathered her things. She walked out past Bill's office, and he joined her on her way.

Diagon Alley was beautiful, lit up and decorated for the season. Bill was still being quieter than usual, but it was a more comfortable sort of quiet. They walked slowly, taking in the ornamented windows and the Christmas trees outside many of the shops. A dusting of snow covered the ground, and the multicolored lights were reflected off of shiny patches of ice.

"Are you going home for Christmas?" Bill asked, looking over at Fleur. She shook her head. Her mother had written asking the same thing, but it was her first time really out on her own, and she felt Christmas in England would help make it feel more like home for her.

"And you? You will be spending it with your family?"

"I can't. I have...some work to finish before Christmas." Fleur took that to mean work on whatever he did outside of Gringotts.

"Work, on Christmas? 'Ow can you do such a thing?" she teased, pretending to be scandalized to hide her disappointment. She had been hoping that the holiday would give them more time to spend together; it looked as though he would be spending more time away, in the world of his secrets that didn't include her.

Suddenly Bill turned to her. "Actually, I only have to work until Christmas morning. If you're not doing anything else...would you like to spend the afternoon with me?"

Fleur felt a little bubble of hope start to rise inside her. Christmas, alone with Bill! 'Careful, don't get too excited - it doesn't necessarily mean anything,' she told herself. But if it was time she could be with Bill, she was happy.

"Of course I will spend Christmas with you. 'Ow else will you feed yourself?" She smiled up at him as they stopped in front of her flat. "When shall I come over?"

"Er..." Bill looked thoughtful for a moment. "A little after three o'clock on Christmas day?"

"Okay." She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck in a quick hug. "See you then."

* * *

True to his word, Bill dropped by St. Mungo's on Christmas Eve. His mother had come by to visit as well, and he embraced both of his parents.

"How are you doing, Dad?"

"I'm alright. They're still working on finding a cure for these bites, but the trainee healer Pye said he was working on a slightly unconventional idea that might work."

"Just don't try anything stupid, Arthur." Molly fixed him with a penetrating stare, and Bill thought she was imagining some half-conceived attempt at muggle healing. Bill wasn't worried; as much as his father sometimes had the appearance of a clueless experimenter obsessed with muggles, he knew that Arthur was careful and methodical in his experiments. How else could he have taken apart a muggle car and put it back together so it still worked perfectly, but could also fly and turn invisible?

"I'm sure whatever the healers try will be perfectly safe, mum," he reassured her. His mother didn't look like she entirely agreed.

"Molly tells me you've got to be on duty tonight," Arthur said in a low voice. "Sorry about that - I expect you'll miss most of Christmas with the family."

"You can sleep a bit and come over after dinner, Bill," his mother reassured him, patting his hand.

"Actually, I, er..." Bill began. This was a little awkward. He'd spent loads of Christmases away from his family, but never needed an excuse other than 'I'm in Egypt.'

"I might have...plans, for Christmas afternoon." Molly looked at him, surprised (Arthur looked somewhat less so).

"Plans? What kind of plans?" She suddenly got that motherly, matchmaking look her older sons had learned to flee from. The last time he'd seen it was when Charlie had let it slip he was seeing someone in Romania, and she had practically begun planning his wedding on the spot. With nowhere to hide, Bill tried to head her off.

"It's nothing big, mum. I'm just spending the afternoon with a friend from work who would be spending it alone otherwise. I'll come by Grimmauld place and go with you to see Dad after Christmas lunch."

She still looked a little suspicious, but Arthur seemed to sense Bill's discomfort and changed the subject.

* * *

Bill went back to his flat that afternoon. He opened the top drawer of his dresser, pulling out a small sandalwood box. It was old and intricately carved, and the edges were lined with hieroglyphics. Inside were vials of potions, a spare wand, a few old scrolls, and various mementos and sundries, mostly from the Egyptian tombs. He sifted through the contents of the box, looking for a sleeping potion so he could be rested for the duty later that night. He thought back to what Fleur had said, how upset she had been that he had seemed to forget about her, hoping he could make it up to her over Christmas. He finally found the potion he was looking for and lifted it out carefully, pulling a fine silver chain off of the vial's lid. The chain was attached to an small amulet, intricately wrought in silver and set with a small round opal. Bill looked at it for a moment, recalling where it came from.

He had found it in the tomb of an Egyptian wizard who had probably lived around 1200 BC, but the amulet itself was somewhat older. It was a curious find, because it was unlike other Egyptian pieces of the period, and carried an ornamented inscription in a script similar to ancient Hebrew. Looking at the inscription, Bill suddenly felt it was coincidentally fitting that he should have found this now. He wrapped it in a piece of embroidered silk (also from his box), and set it by his bed. Taking enough potion for eight hours of sleep, Bill set the alarm by his bed for 11pm, laid back and closed his eyes.

The Duty that night was as uneventful as ever. Remus joined him around 2 am, looking worn down and shabby as he always did round that time of the month. They talked a little; Remus was worried about Tonks as usual.

"I just don't understand what she sees in me, attractive young thing like that."

Bill looked over at Remus' shabby, patched robes, his exhausted, lined face framed with graying hair, and the deep circles under his eyes.

"I think it's mostly your looks and your money," he suggested, straight faced. Remus gave a hollow laugh.

"And here I thought it was my winning personality. Seriously though, even if...I mean, right now is a foolish time..." He trailed off. Bill shifted uncomfortably, thinking of Fleur and his conversation with his father.

"I dunno, Remus. No time like the present, right? And with things as they seem to be going, there may not be much more future anyway."

"But that's exactly my point, Bill!" Remus actually stood up, his voice hushed but intense.

"Dumbledore is planning on sending me to make contact with the werewolves, and you know how unpredictable they are. I could be killed at a moment's notice, never to be seen again!"

Bill didn't know what to say to that. Lupin had echoed his own fears exactly. Remus sat back down.

"Look at me. I'm a mess. What does she want me for, anyway?" Bill thought for a moment about Tonks, with her spunky attitude and bright pink hair.

"Maybe just because you care about her so much," he suggested. This time, it was Remus who had no answer.

* * *

Bill returned home around eight in the morning. Although he had gotten some sleep on Christmas eve, he was still tired, and after a brief breakfast (or was it dinner?) he headed back to bed.

He awoke, somewhat groggy, a little after noon. After a shower and shave, he put on some of his nicer clothes. Might as well look decent - it was Christmas, after all. He slipped the silk-wrapped amulet in an inside pocket in his jacket and threw on a cloak, then apparated to Grimmauld place.

He walked up to the door of Number twelve, noticing a long muggle automobile parked in front of it. Opening the door, Bill heard noises coming from the kitchen, and made his way down the stairs. Mundungus was there, along with most of the Weasleys, Mad Eye, and Remus, who looked as though he might not have slept since earlier that morning. They looked to be just finishing the tidying up after lunch, though Mundungus seemed to be taking the distraction of clean up as an opportunity to sneak a few desserts into his coat pockets.

Eventually they all piled into the car out front, which Mundungus had 'borrowed.' Molly initially showed some hesitation about riding with Mundungus, but eventually sat down next to Fred, and Bill got in after her. The interior of the car had obviously been magically expanded, and the ride to St. Mungo's was comfortable. They found Arthur looking cheerful, and it looked as though the hospital had provided a decent Christmas dinner; looking at it reminded Bill he hadn't eaten anything since that morning, and his stomach rumbled slightly. He set his gift for his father at the foot of the bed (a large muggle book entitled 'The Way Things Work,' with all kinds of illustrations for how muggle contraptions operated, including how aeroplanes stayed up).

They visited warmly for a few minutes, but then Molly noticed Arthur's bandages and started asking questions. When his father got that guilty 'I've been messing about with muggle things' look, Bill felt it was about time to leave. He stood up quickly as his mother started to close in.

"I think I'm going to, er, get a cup of tea from downstairs. I'll see you..." The twins, noticing his escape, immediately got up to accompany him. That meant that he would probably actually have to get a cup of what passed for tea in the St. Mungo's, rather than going straight home to meet Fleur.

"Whew. That was a close one. Good call, Bill," George commented as they started down the stairs.

"I feel sorry for Dad," said Fred. "Not enough to stay, though," he added after a moment.

They reached the tea table in the lobby, and the twins started sorting through the small basket of tea choices.

"You know, I don't really feel like tea after all," Bill began. "I think I might just go..."

Fred glanced at George.

"Leaving so soon? Surely you don't have anywhere else to be on Christmas than with your family?"

Bill shifted uncomfortably.

"Well...I, er..."

Suddenly George grinned.

"I think he does have somewhere to be, don't you Fred?"

Fred grinned back.

"So it seems. But where? What, or should I say _who, _could possibly tempt dear old Bill away from us?"

Bill shrugged noncommittally.

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies."

"So he doesn't deny it, but he won't tell us. Hmmm...what do you suppose that means, Fred?"

"My dear George, I can think of one answer to that question." Fred winked suggestively. "An answer with long, silvery hair and a French accent..."

Knowing it was futile to argue, Bill just laughed. He left the twins by the tea table, and walked out the front door, headed for his flat.

* * *

Fleur got to Bill's front door just after three o'clock. She set down her shopping, from the outside apparently normal but in fact magically altered so that she could carry all the ingredients for Christmas dinner in two smallish bags. Bill opened almost as soon as she knocked, looking especially handsome in a dark green button up shirt and black slacks.

"Joyeux Noel, Bill."

"Happy Christmas," he answered, taking her bags. She followed him as he carried them back into the kitchen. "Wow. Looks like your brought all the makings for a feast!"

"It is Christmas dinner, it 'as to be special." She was excited, and a little nervous, but after a few minutes the anticipation disappeared. It just felt so natural, cooking with Bill. As she sorted through ingredients and started the oven and the stove, and Bill got out bowls and cooking pans, she could almost pretend that the kitchen was as much hers as Bill's, that she wouldn't be going back to an empty flat later that night.

Soon the turkey was in the oven, and the soup simmering gently on the stove top. Bill's voice came from the living room, where he was hanging some small decorations she had brought. He didn't have a Christmas tree, so ribbons and tinsel hung from the corners of picture frames and curtain rods.

"Fleur, look, it's snowing again. We're going to have a white Christmas!"

She joined him looking out the window - sure enough, fat white flakes were falling from the cloudy sky, and a layer of fresh snow had already collected on the windowsill. She smiled widely, remembering playing in the snow at home.

"Let's go outside."

Bill looked over at her.

"What about dinner?"

Fleur waved a hand dismissively. It would need at least an hour before she started the vegetables; the soup just needed to cook down, and of course the turkey would be a while.

"We 'ave plenty of time for a walk, it will be fine." She went to the front door, slipping on her warm winter boots and while Bill grabbed his jacket. As soon as he opened the door, she ran outside into the courtyard in front of his flat, face upturned and mouth open to catch snowflakes as they fell.

"Hey, wait up!" Bill called after her, closing the door to his flat and pulling on a knit cap.

He walked out towards her, and she couldn't resist the temptation to throw a handful of snow at him.

" 'Urry up, lazy old man," she called back. Bill laughed, shaking the snow out of his hat and brushing it out of his face. Suddenly his expression changed, and he gave a violent shiver.

"Ugh. Merlin, that's cold!" Fleur laughed as he frantically untucked his shirt in the back, shaking his jacket to try to get the snow out. He stumped over, scowling. Suddenly he grinned, and scooped up a handful of snow of his own, flinging it in her direction. She dodged and flung a handful back, ignoring the biting cold in her fingers. Bill came closer, scooping up some more snow off of the back of a bench. Knowing he was much too close to miss, Fleur started to make a dash for the shelter of a nearby doorway. Halfway there, she slipped on a patch of ice, her feet skidding out in front of her. There was an awful moment when she knew she was falling, then suddenly she felt herself caught, held. Strong arms lifted her back to her feet, and she looked up into Bill's face, which was slightly worried but smiling.

"Careful, there," he murmured. For a moment neither of them said anything, he just held her, as the snow fell around them.

Then the moment was gone. Bill released her, and she shivered suddenly, though whether it was from cold or the feeling of his hand brushing her face, she didn't know. He finally broke the silence.

"Come on - let's take that walk."

London was beautiful, Fleur admitted to herself. Of course, it might have been the company more than the scenery (though that was certainly nothing to sniff at, she thought, as she glanced over to Bill walking beside her). They made there way down to the gardens by the river, past the statue where Fleur had met the old lady. It was getting colder now, and the light began to fade, so they made their way back to Bill's flat. Bill took her coat and hung it next to his, then pulled off his shoes and rubbed his hands together briskly.

"Smell's good," he commented. Fleur hurried to the kitchen to check on the soup and turkey, finding them almost ready to serve. She turned the heat up on the sweet potatoes that were simmering on low, drained the water and started to mash them, mixing in butter, brown sugar and pecans.

"Can I help?" Bill was standing in the doorway, his cheeks and nose red from the cold.

"You can set ze table. I am almost ready to serve." She gave him a quick smile, then dropped the vegetables into a pan to sear them quickly in a slightly tangy butter sauce.

A few minutes later and everything was ready. Bill helped her carry the dishes out to the table, and for a moment she paused, speechless. Bill had conjured a beautiful tablecloth with china, silver cutlery, and tall silver candles.

"It's not really...it's just my normal stuff, just transfigured..." But Fleur beamed as she set the dishes on the table.

"It's beautiful, Bill," she assured him.

After dinner, Bill levitated all the dishes into the kitchen, walking slowly behind them to make sure nothing broke. Fleur stood up, but he waved her away.

"I've got this. We can tidy up later, you go sit down."

She wandered into Bill's sitting room, taking a seat on the soft carpet in front of the fire. A few minutes later, Bill joined her, with two cups of hot chocolate. Fleur was instantly reminded of home, when they would go sit in front of the fire, roast chestnuts, and drink cocoa after Christmas dinner. How did he always know the perfect thing to do?

"What did I do?" He was looking at her quizzically, and she realized she had been staring at him. She shook her head, smiling.

"Nothing...it's just, this reminds me some much of home."

He nodded.

"Wish you were there now?"

Fleur shook her head.

"No. This is perfect, Bill."

They sat in silence for a while, drinking cocoa and staring at the fire, as snow piled up against the window.

They had finished their chocolate, and the fire had started to burn a little lower when Bill spoke.

"I want to apologize to you, Fleur."

Fleur was a little confused. The evening had been perfect, amazing even.

"What for?"

"What you said to me the other day...about me forgetting about you..." Fleur felt suddenly embarrassed.

"I should not 'ave lost my temper."

But Bill shook his head.

"No, you were right. When things happen, sometimes I...I go off by myself to sort things out, and I do forget about other people. I shouldn't have done that to you, and I'm sorry."

He reached into his pocket. "I have something for you." He offered her a small bundle of embroidered fabric. Fleur took it slowly, and unwrapped it. Inside was a silver amulet, intricately detailed with strange but beautiful symbols surrounding a round opal in the center.

"It's beautiful, Bill." It glinted softly in the firelight as she held it.

"I found that in a tomb in Egypt. It's probably from around 1300 or 1400 BC, but the Egyptians cast powerful preservation charms. It's unusual, because it's not actually Egyptian."

"How did it get in ze tomb zen?"

Bill paused for a moment.

"According to their oldest stories, the Hebrew people were once slaves in Egypt. They were persecuted and mistreated, forced to work in hard labor for a ruler who feared and hated them. But they believe that a man was sent by God to do miracles and free them from the Egyptian rule. The Egyptian wizards could perform some of the miracles, but the Hebrew God was infinitely more powerful, and rescued them from the tyranny of the Egyptians."

Bill ran a finger over the symbols on the amulet. "This is probably from about that time - the main text in the middle is mostly Hebrew writing, with Egyptian symbols of hope, faith, and deliverance around the edges. This was made, probably secretly, by some ancient smith who still had hope even though times were dark. Made to remind him and his people that they were not forgotten."

He looked back at Fleur, and she turned to meet his gaze.

"I wanted to give you this to remind me, and so that you'll know, that I won't forget you, even when times are dark. The writing in the center..." He trailed off, and Fleur glanced down at the amulet again, at the strange words across the middle, under the opal.

"What does it say?"

His voice was almost a whisper.

"He remembers"

"Thank you," she whispered back. And without pausing to think about it, she leaned in, closing the distance between them, and pressed her lips to his.

There was a moment that seamed to last forever yet ended too soon, when the world was suddenly still, and there were no thoughts, no fears or doubts. Slowly, Fleur pulled back and opened her eyes.

Everything was oddly silent. She looked into Bill's face, and couldn't quite read his expression; she couldn't tell if he looked surprised or confused, afraid, happy, or upset. She felt a quiver of uncertainty and fear start to rise. Had she so misunderstood him? She reached out a hand to touch his face, looking into his eyes.

"Bill," she said softly. "Bill...say something." For a second she saw a hint of that dark look in his eyes, which frightened her a little, then it was gone, replaced by something else she didn't quite recognize. Then his arms were around her, pulling her close, and his lips were moving over hers, and her fingers were winding through his hair as he kissed her.

As they separated, Bill's hand slid down Fleur's arm to her hand, which still held the amulet he had given her. He took it from her fingers and deftly opened the clasp on the chain, then leaned forward to fasten it around her neck.

"I was 'oping you would say something like zat," she murmured, still a little giddy from his kiss. "But I was afraid you never would."

"So was I," he answered. "I think it just took me a while to figure it out."

She looked at him curiously. He must have been the only man of his like in the world, she thought.

"What?" he asked. "You have that look again."

She shook her head.

"It is nothing, just...you are ze only man i 'ave met who 'as 'ad to 'figure it out.' Usually zey look for one minute and zey know what they want..."

"Maybe I'm just a little slow on the uptake."

"Do you think I am beautiful?" she asked him, suddenly.

He gave her a bemused smile.

"What kind of question is that?"

"Do you think I am beautiful?" she repeated. "If it took you so long to figure it out, was it because you did not find me attractive?"

Bill was silent for a moment, as though thinking over his answer. He perplexed her, in a way no-one had before.

"I think I did...but I couldn't really tell at first, it took me a while to be sure."

Well that explained nothing.

"What do you mean, you could not tell at first?"

He paused again.

"Well, if you mean could I tell right away that your eyes, lips, nose, and cheeks were all very well proportioned, that you were slender and fit with unblemished skin and smooth, shiny hair, then yes, of course I could. But that isn't beauty. Beauty is how who you are inside shines through, and that takes longer to see."

Fleur didn't know what to say then. She knew what she wanted to say, but she was afraid to say say it so soon.

"And yes."

"What?"

"Yes, I think you're beautiful."


	11. Glad to be

When Fleur woke the next day she felt a warm glow spread from her chest to the tips of her fingers and toes as she recalled the night before. Please let it not have been a dream. She glanced over at her nightstand, and felt another rush of happiness as she saw Bill's amulet on top of it, conclusive proof that she had in fact gone to his flat for Christmas, that they had walked in the snow and eaten Christmas dinner and drunk hot chocolate in front of the fire, and she had kissed him and he kissed her back. She remembered talking softly as the fire burned down to glowing embers, and falling asleep in his arms. And she remembered him lifting her once again, the squeeze of apparation softer than she was used to, and carrying her to her own bedroom before leaving her with a final kiss goodnight.

She actually laughed out loud with happiness, thinking of her trepidation about coming to England in the first place; imagine if she had never opened the letter! She would never have guessed at the time, never have dreamed that only six months later she would not only have met Bill, but kissed him.

She pushed the covers back and slid out of bed. Bill was going to come by later, but she had the morning on her own. Slipping into a sweater, she sat down in front of her desk and reached for her quill. She hadn't been particularly good about writing home lately, and she thought it was about time she sent a decent letter to her family - especially since she had some proper news now.

She uncovered her ink pot and dipped her quill, letting it hover over a blank piece of parchment as she thought of how to start. '_Dear mum. I'm completely in love with the most amazing man in the world.' _No, much too sappy. Also rather abrupt since she had only vaguely mentioned him in previous letters, as in '_some of my co-workers are very nice and helping me with my English.' _At the time she had been almost afraid to mention him, afraid that writing it down or telling someone would make her hopes more real, and more painful if they were never fulfilled.

_Dear Maman,_ she began. _How is everyone at home? Did you spend Christmas with the Belles and the Lessards again this year? I miss you all, but I think it's been good for me to be away. I'm meeting new people, and work is going well. I spent Christmas with a friend from work, he's very sweet and we made dinner together. _

Fleur paused, thinking. It was probably best not to say too much about Bill all at once. Her mother would instantly guess more, but she still thought it would be better to break the news slowly. She wrote a little more about work, then set her quill down and looked out the window. The sun was breaking through the clouds, and the blanket of snow that remained from last night shone brilliantly white. She suddenly had the desire to walk outside, breathe the crisp air, hear the crunch of snow under her feet.

She dug a pair of gloves out of one of her drawers, pulled on some woolly socks and jeans over her flannel pajamas. Grabbing her jacket she headed for the door, putting on her fur-lined boots before stepping out into the morning air. It was quite cold, and she fastened the collar of her coat around her chin as she walked up Diagon Alley. There were a few people out, but not many; most were probably still sleeping in after a hearty Christmas dinner.

She paused in front of Gringotts, looking up at its intricately crafted doors and columns, feeling suddenly very grateful. It was in part because of that intricate facade, those marble halls, even the demanding goblins within, that she was here. She had never really believed in fate or destiny or god's will or whatever you wanted to call it, but there was something striking about how everything seemed to have come together in the last few months.

It was a little frightening as well; she realized that she had never had so much to lose. It was strange, perhaps, but she'd never been in a real romantic relationship before. Sure, she'd had 'boyfriends,' if one could call them that, but they never had deep personal conversations, never made her feel safe when she was frightened or comforted her when she was sad. She thought back to her last little fling, with that good-looking boy from Hogwarts. Had it really been only a year ago? She felt like a completely different person now. The idea of sneaking off after a dance to make out with a relative stranger held none of the excitement now that it had then. Bill had changed everything, and she couldn't imagine wanting to be with anyone else.

* * *

Bill took his time, walking from his flat near charing cross towards the leaky cauldron rather than apparating directly to Diagon Alley. As he trudged through the snow, he thought about the night before, when everything had changed in a moment. 'So much for being cautious about personal relationships,' he thought wryly. It was dangerous, dangerous for both of them. But he remembered what his father said to him in St Mungo's, and the feeling of her in his arms. He remembered her standing in his living room, trembling with fear and suppressed tears, how he had seen her distress and pulled her close to him without thinking. It was a strange feeling, as though in that moment he had suddenly realized that caring for her was his very reason for being, as though he had been looking for her all along without knowing it.

He passed through the Leaky Cauldron to the hidden gateway behind it, entering Diagon Alley. The magical street was insulated from the noisy muggle city, and with the layer of snow over everything it was very quiet. He walked by Quality Quidditch Supplies, Eeylops Owl Emporium and Flourish and Blotts, all decorated festively but shut with no lights behind their windows. He passed Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor (which had a sign in the window showing several of the hot drinks and treats he served in winter) and kicked carelessly at a small snowdrift on the pavement.

"Bill."

He looked up, and there she was; standing right front him, her long silvery hair tousled and spilling over her shoulders, her cheeks rosy from the cold.

"Fleur." He reached for her hand, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek. "What are you doing out here? You can't love work that much."

She smiled at him.

"What do you mean?"

"It's the day after Christmas, Gringotts isn't even open, and you don't have work until next week," Bill gestured up at the bank's front door "yet here you are."

She laughed softly.

"No, I was just thinking..." She moved closer to him, entwining her fingers with his.

"About what?"

"About zis building." Bill looked at her curiously.

"Gringotts?"

" 'Ow it is because of zis building zat we 'ave met. If it were not for zis building, I would probably still be in France, and you would be...who knows where."

Bill looked up at the intricate facade, the marble columns, the heavy bronze doors. He'd never thought of it like that, but it was true. They might never have met, and she would have been nothing but a vague memory of some girl he'd seen at Hogwarts. He'd occasionally thought about her, after he returned to Egypt from his meeting with Dumbledore. He'd wondered whether he was right about her being more than met the eye, but he'd never thought he would get the chance to find out. Ironically, it was also thanks in part to Voldemort that he had the chance; if it weren't for the Order, he would probably still be in Egypt now.

"And I was thinking 'ow glad I am for zis building, zat you are 'ere with me. I don't know what I would 'ave done without you."

He met her eyes and felt that strange ache in his heart again, along with a curious mixture of joy and fear.

"You would be alright without me," he said quietly, hoping he was right.

The words were more for himself than for her. Sometimes, often late at night on guard duty, he would get a strange feeling that he wasn't going to survive the war. That something terrible was going to happen to him in the fight against Voldemort, a fight which was rapidly drawing nearer. Dumbledore was worried about the dementors and Azkaban, had urged Fudge to at least add some alternative security, but the minister would hear nothing of it. When the lines were drawn, the Order was going to be seriously disadvantaged, and Bill had no illusions; some of those who fought were going to die.

He didn't quite understand the fear that rose in her eyes when he spoke. She suddenly gripped his hand very tightly.

"What do you mean? What are you saying?"

Bill shrugged his shoulders helplessly, wishing he could explain.

"I just...it's...well, these are kind of dangerous times here. Something could happen to me..."

She looked confused for a moment.

"You mean because of Voldemort?" she said slowly. "Because 'e 'as come back?"

Bill nodded. Fleur looked suddenly relieved, though he wasn't sure why.

"What's is it?" he asked. She looked down at the ground and mumbled something almost inaudible.

He reached up to her chin and gently tipped her face up towards him. "What's wrong?" he asked again, softly.

"I was afraid..." she hesitated. "I was afraid you were going to leave me."

"What?" Bill was bewildered. "Why would you think that?"

"Because you said zat I would be alright without you, as though I would 'ave to be..."

"No..." He pulled her into a hug, "No, I'm not going to leave you...I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." He felt her slender arms wrap tightly around his chest, and for a few minutes they just stood there outside Gringotts. Fleur was often confident and self assured, but there were some things she was very insecure about. He didn't really understand why their relationship seemed to be one of the latter; he couldn't imagine any man rejecting her.

Slowly Fleur relaxed and took a small step back, looking a little embarrassed.

"Sorry. I am being silly, getting upset for no reason."

Bill shook his head.

"You don't need to be sorry. I don't think you're silly at all." He reached out to ruffle her already messy hair, which nonetheless managed to look elegantly tousled rather than disheveled.

"Well, maybe a little silly looking. But I don't mind that too much."

She actually laughed a little at that.

"I think you are ze only man I 'ave met who 'as called me 'silly looking.'"

Bill grinned back.

"Well you can't have met very many honest men, then. If you had, they surely would have told you you're as silly looking as can be."

" 'Ow am I silly looking?" she argued playfully. Bill pretended to think for a moment, then leaned close as if studying her face.

"Well, this spot right here," he said quietly. He brushed her hair back from her left temple as though examining it, then pressed a his lips to the spot. "Definitely silly looking." He pulled back, for a moment, considering. The playful smirk on her face faded slightly, her eyes widening a little.

"This spot over here." He kissed the top of her opposite cheek, "also very silly looking."

He felt her hand slip into his as he gently lifted her jaw with a finger. "Here's another silly bit." He kissed just to the right of her chin.

"This part is just preposterous," he said, kissing the tiny crease between her eyebrows,

"and this bit is pretty absurd too." He lightly touched his lips to the tip of her nose.

"And this part right here," he whispered, his lips hovering just over hers, "completely ridiculous."

* * *

Even after Christmas was over and Bill and Fleur both had to go back to work, they still spent practically all of their free time together. Unfortunately, because of Bill's double set of commitments, that wasn't as much time as either of them might have liked, but they made excuses to drop by the other's office, ate lunch together almost every day, and often dinner as well.

They were discreet enough about showing their affection while at work, though there was apparently no fooling Bill's boss. Actually, he seemed to find the whole thing rather amusing. One afternoon he came into Bill's office, carrying a folder with a serious expression on his face.

"Bill," he said. "I've got something I need you to do."

Bill looked up from a complicated vault diagram on his desk.

"What do you need?"

Benelli opened the file and rifled through it briefly.

"I have this file full of blank parchment that I'd like you to take over to Eugene's office, and give to his assistant."

Bill stood and took the file; sure enough its only contents were blank sheets of parchment with the Gringotts watermark on them. Bill looked back at his boss, nonplussed.

"Well go on. I'm sure Eugene's assistant needs those. And I expect it will take you at least half an hour to deliver them to her."

He nudged Bill out of his office and down the hall.

"You work too hard, Bill; you get all of your projects done on time, and it's making me look bad. I'd better not see you back in this office in under thirty minutes, or I might have to fire you."

That evening, Bill came home to find a brownish-grey lump of feathers on his doorstep. He picked it up gently, and it gave a feeble sort of squawk.

"Errol," he groaned. The bird opened one eye and looked woefully at him for a moment, then closed it again.

"I suppose I should be grateful you're still alive."

Bill brought the bird inside, tried and failed to set it on its feet, and finally laid it on the counter by the sink. He untied the small note attached to its leg, unrolling it.

_Bill, the healers think they have found a cure for your father's injuries. Come see us at the hospital; if it works, they'll let him come home tonight. The children go back to school tomorrow, and I'm sure they'd love to see you as well. _

_- Love, Mum_

Bill rolled the note up and stuffed it in his pocket. He looked back at Errol, who was stirring feebly on the counter. Hastily, he pulled some meat scraps out of the icebox, tore some crust off a loaf of bread, and filled a small dish with water, setting them in front of the owl. He opened the window over the sink.

"When you're ready, you can go home." The owl hooted feebly in response as Bill apparated to St. Mungo's.

When he arrived, he found his father already dressed, and without any bandages.

"Bill!" he called. His mother looked up and waved at him cheerfully. "Healer Smethwyck finally found an antivenin. Everything's healed up; we were just going home."

Bill smiled and hugged his parents.

"That's great Dad." He glanced at his mother. "You didn't try any more muggle remedies, did you?"

Arthur shook his head, looking slightly disappointed.

"No, it was just a rare potion. I still think the stitches might have been a good idea..." he seemed to notice his wife's expression, and quickly added "though it was never really likely to work."

They had to sign a few release forms at the front desk, but within a few minutes they were able to apparate home. They materialized on the front porch of Grimmauld place, and entered.

"I never thought I'd say it, but I'm glad to be back here," Arthur laughed. "Much longer shut up in the hospital and I think I would've gone mad."

At the sound of his voice, Ginny and Hermione both came out onto the first floor landing. Seeing her father home, Ginny shouted up the stairs

"Hey, Dad's back!" then came running down to hug him. Fred, George, and Ron soon followed, coming down from the attic. There was a few minutes of happy chaos in the entryway, then the family headed downstairs towards the kitchen.

Bill followed Hermione down the stairs, but suddenly heard his father's voice devoid of the happiness of a moment before.

"What's going on here?"

Bill hurried to join his parents in the kitchen, and almost ran into Severus Snape as he swept past. Snape did not make eye contact. He found Sirius and Harry standing in the kitchen, Harry looking nervous and Sirius furious.

"What's been going on?" His father asked again.

"Nothing, Arthur," Sirius answered, though it was plainly untrue.

Sirius and Harry both continued to look distracted all evening, and said little. The rest of the family, though clearly a little shaken by whatever had happened between Sirius and Snape, soon got over it. The twins, of course, were back to their usual selves in a matter of minutes.

"So, Bill, how was Christmas? We missed you, didn't we George."

"We did indeed, Fred. Though I doubt Bill missed us, probably had much more...entertaining company. "

"Impossible! Who could be more entertaining than us?"

Bill just rolled his eyes.

"Remus, could you pass the sprouts?"

"Oh come on Bill, why so secretive?" George reached across Fred to takes some sprouts as well, while Bill filled his glass with water. "It's not like we can't be trusted."

Bill snorted into his drink.

"Yeah, you're the epitome of innocence."

"Where were you at Christmas, Bill?" Ron was across the table, buttering a large slice of bread.

"I was-" began Bill, but Fred interrupted him.

"He was having a nice, cosy Christmas with Fleur Delacour, just the two of them."

Ron dropped his butter knife.

"Really? Are you having me on?"

Bill shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

"She would have been spending it alone otherwise."

"Yes, how gallant and self-sacrificing of you, Bill," George mocked.

"Not really," said Bill. "It was as good an excuse as any to get away from you two."

"So are you, you know, together then?" asked Ron.

Bill shrugged his shoulders again.

"I suppose, if you want to call it that."

"What would _you _call it, Bill?" Fred helped himself to Ron's bread, which lay forgotten on the edge of his plate.

Bill thought for a moment. What would he call it? He thought of Christmas night; of the feeling of Fleur's lips on his, of his sudden realization of what exactly he wanted to have with her. He thought of her in his arms, the way she trusted him, how much he wanted to be worth that trust, and that strange ache in his heart. He thought of his duties to the Order, how her presence in his life magnified his fears about the war, how desperately he wanted to protect her from it, but at the same time how the thought of her could carry him through it. And the answer came to him, as suddenly and simply as if he had known it all his life.

I love her.

But he didn't say it out loud.


	12. A Frightening Interruption

It was early Monday evening, just after closing time for Gringotts. Fleur didn't have work until Wednesday, but she had come to meet Bill when he finished and they walked together back to his flat. The snow had gone, though the cold still lingered and the sky was grey, growing darker. Fleur moved a little closer, slipping her arm through his.

"Ze light fades so quickly 'ere in winter. I feel as though I 'ave not seen ze sun in years."

"That just makes it more special when the sun comes back." said Bill.

"And when will zat be?"

Bill shrugged.

"April, maybe."

"No, you cannot be serious!"

Bill laughed. "I'm not, but I'm not exaggerating too much either. It makes me miss Egypt, with its twelve rainy days a year."

"Someday, I would like to see Egypt with you, Bill. You can come see France too, and meet my family."

Bill didn't answer for a moment. He wanted to take Fleur to Egypt, show her the wonders of a land that had captured his imagination from the first day he set foot there. He wanted to go with her to France, to meet her family, to see where she had grown into the beautiful woman she was today. But he was afraid to make promises that he might not be able to keep, that he might not be alive to fulfill.

"I'd like that," he said at last. "Though I don't know if your parents would approve of me."

"Of course zey will approve, why wouldn't zey?"

"Well," said Bill, "I am a curse breaker, after all. We have a reputation, you know."

Fleur laughed.

"It's true," Bill smiled. "We're these dangerous, risk-taking, thrill-seeking bad boys who brave death to find treasure. Not to mention most of us are _very _handsome. Just the kind of man mothers warn their daughters to avoid."

He thought of Ginny. "If my sister started going out with a curse breaker, I'd have a thing or two to say, I can tell you that much."

They reached his flat and he unlocked the door, letting Fleur in first. She shook her head at him, slipping off her shoes.

"Maybe zat is your reputation, but zat is not who you are."

Bill shut the door behind them.

"How can you be sure?" He stepped closer too her, leaning in so his lips touched hers.

"Because you are too sweet to be a scoundrel," she answered, kissing him back.

"Maybe I'm just a very cunning scoundrel," he countered.

Fleur pressed herself against him, standing up on her toes to brush her lips against his ear.

"Maybe I don't mind."

She kissed along his jaw to his mouth, her arms reaching round his neck, and pulled his jacket off his shoulders, shrugging out of her own coat. Somehow they made it into the sitting room, her soft hands sliding up under the hem of his shirt while his moved down to her slender hips, holding her close.

Suddenly there was a bright flash and a burst of flame in the doorway. The couple separated, Bill reaching for his wand, but there was no-one there. A single, golden feather floated gently to the floor. He looked at it for a long moment, realizing what it was; the emergency meeting signal for the Order.

He would have to go to Grimmauld place; He couldn't be sure yet, but it was likely the dementors had finally turned against the ministry - the Order had been expecting it for some time. He felt Fleur's hand on his arm.

"Bill, what was zat?"

He raised his wand again, and started casting protective wards over his flat. He sealed the door, then the windows, cast spells of strengthening and protection over the walls.

"I have to go, Fleur. I want you to stay here, I'll come back as soon as I can."

"What? Why? What is going on?"

He could hear the anxiety in her voice and paused in his spell casting to look at her.

"I don't know, yet. Whatever happens, don't leave here. I'm putting protections around the flat so that no-one should be able to get in."

Bill started casting more powerful wards, preventing outsiders from apparating in, concealing the strong magical aura that could draw unwanted attention.

"Bill, I don't understand!" Fleur was starting to panic, and he hated that he was going to have to leave her alone. He pulled her close again, feeling her body quiver with short, shallow breaths.

"Shhh," he whispered by her ear, "it's going to be alright. I have to go, but I'll be back soon. I want you to promise me that you won't try to go anywhere. You're safest if you stay here."

"But Bill, why-"

"Please, promise me." He held her shoulders so he could look into her eyes. She was still scared, but after a moment she spoke.

"Alright. I promise."

Bill released her, and took a moment to seal the Floo so that no-one could get in that way.

"Bill." He turned back to Fleur, who suddenly grasped his hand. "Promise me that you will come back."

"I'll be back. As soon as I can." He pulled her into another brief embrace, hoping he could keep his word. Pressing a last kiss to her forehead, he concentrated on Grimmauld Place, and disappeared.

* * *

Bill was gone. She didn't understand what had happened, or what any of it meant. She knew he had secrets, that he had some secret project he was working on - but why would he need to go so quickly? And why would he fear for her safety, put all those protections around his flat and make her stay here? What was he really doing, all the nights he was away?

The suddenness and urgency of his departure was a little frightening. She realized there was a whole other side to him, one he never shared with her, that did something dangerous and secret. Who was he, really? A spy? Something else? Was Bill Weasley even his real name, were the people in the photograph on his wall really his family? She looked again at the picture full of red-headed people in Egypt.

She thought she vaguely recognized several of them from her visit to Hogwarts. The youngest boy was the one Harry Potter was often with, she had seen them together; he was the one Harry had rescued from the lake during the second task. She remembered him asking her to the Yule Ball, even though they had never spoken before, and felt a rush of embarrassment for the poor boy. He'd looked so mortified, and run off before she had a chance to answer. She suddenly felt slightly sick. That was the effect she had on men, she had no control over it. Because of what she was, her blood, because she wasn't fully human, she twisted others emotions. Men lusted after her, women scorned her or envied her.

Except Bill. He was different, in a way that no secret life could obscure. He saw her for who she was, he accepted her and cared for her. She wandered into his bedroom, sinking down onto the bed and burying her face in his pillow, breathing in his smell. Did he love her? He was so caring, affectionate and understanding, but he still sometimes kept a distance between them. When they kissed, he was the one to stop first. When they spent evenings together, he was the one who stood up and said he had to leave, or took her home. Sometimes she felt as though she had known him her whole life; other times, as though she didn't know him at all. There was some invisible barrier between them, and just when she thought she was finally getting through it he would put it up again, never letting her get too close, never too intimate.

Fleur must have lain there for some time, because she eventually realized she was hungry. She got up and made her way to the kitchen, but she couldn't summon the will to make anything that required too much effort. She opened the cupboards and icebox half-heartedly, finally giving up and pouring herself a bowl of cereal. She found a banana and sliced it on top, then poured some milk over it. Afterwards she felt a little better. She left her bowl by the sink for Bill. 'He can do the washing up, and serve him right for leaving like that,' she thought. She wandered aimlessly through the little flat, but ended up back in the bedroom.

It was still early, but she felt exhausted by the excitement of the evening. She pulled open the top drawer of the dresser, finding Bill's pajama pants along with his socks, boxer shorts, and a delicate looking wooden box. She lifted out the box gently, and brought it to her face, smelling the woody scent. Feeling that she might be invading his privacy a little, she put the box back, pulling out his pajamas. If she was going to have to stay here alone, she might as well be more comfortable. She unbuttoned her blouse and exchanged her trousers for Bill's pajama's, then lay back on the bed.

There were only two choices, she realized. He was complicated and secretive, he didn't let anyone in too quickly, herself included. He had to deal with everything himself, he kept his fears hidden out of sight, and when something was bothering him he retreated, shutting her out rather than seeking help. He could be frustrating and sometimes disconcerting. But she knew all that. The only question was whether she trusted him anyway, whether she loved him. If she did, none of that mattered; she would follow him wherever he led, no matter what.

"I do love him," she murmured into his pillow.

* * *

Bill arrived at Grimmauld place and hurried down the stairs to the kitchen. Much of the Order was already there, though he heard Mad-Eye's clunking footsteps on the stairs behind him as he joined the others. Hagrid, who did not usually attend order meeting, was conspicuous in his massive presence at the end of the table.

Dumbledore spoke first.

"We are going to Azkaban. Voldemort is planning a mass breakout for tonight."

"So the dementors have joined him?" Bill asked.

"It is difficult to say. The ministry still believes they have control over them, so they have not openly deserted their posts yet. But I do not think they will give Voldemort anything but willing cooperation."

Snape looked impatient.

"We must hurry. The escape is supposed to take place in less than half an hour."

Dumbledore nodded.

"We will work in pairs. We cannot hope to overpower the Death Eaters, especially at Azkaban, so we will attempt to scatter them, leaving them disorganized, and prevent them from aiding escapees. I have sent a message to the minister, but I am not hopeful that we will receive any help." He drew out a map of Azkaban. "We will apparate to these points." He indicated several star shaped marks on the map. "Kingsley and Alastor will arrive here. Arthur and William, here. Remus and Sirius, here."

Sirius looked eager to escape from the confinement of the old house, and gave a short bark of a laugh.

"Figures. Finally get sent on a mission, and where do I get to go? Back to Azkaban."

"Nymphadora and Minerva, here," Dumbledore went on. "And Rubeus and I will arrive here. Severus cannot be seen to be helping us, and was not supposed to know about the escape, so cannot be seen without compromising his position as a spy. Therefore, he will return to Hogwarts to ensure its security."

Sirius laughed again harshly.

"Shame you can't do anything _of use _for the order."

Snape looked venomous, but said nothing.

Bill and his father arrived atop the tall fortress in the middle of a storm. The wind roared, ripping through their cloaks and threatening to toss them from their height. Icy spray from the sea reached even to the top of the prison. Bill quickly cast warming and drying charms, but the creeping cold of the dementors could not be banished so easily.

"Expecto Patronum," he murmured, creating just a slight silver mist that protected him and Arthur. It would not do to give themselves away just yet.

They moved to the edge of the tower like structure, looking down over the gates. Only a few minutes later they began to swing open. Outside of them, on a rocky outcrop, a small group of black-robed, masked figures appeared. They started to moved towards the gate, but were stopped by a sudden burst of fire in front of them. That was Dumbledore's signal.

Bill and Arthur cast an anti-apparition spell; from their high vantage point it would cover most of the island outside the fortress, if only temporarily. It was impossible to apparate from inside the prison, but the dementors were clearly willing to let Voldemort's supporters simply walk out the front door. They heard shouts from below as Dumbledore and Hagrid came into view, Dumbledore casting powerful spells of binding and destruction, while Hagrid broke into the middle of the Death Eaters, apparently unaffected by their spells, scattering them with brute force.

"Come on, Dad." Bill leapt into space, casting a levitation spell about ten meters before he hit the ground, so that he landed lightly on his feet. He had arrived in the middle of the battle, and spells flew in all directions. Just inside the gates was a knot of prisoners, along with several Death Eaters. The prisoners looked eager to be freed, but they were still too weak to be much help against the Order. Bill cast a blasting hex towards them, destroying a stone pillar. As he had hoped, the group scattered, the Death Eaters divided. He stunned one of them as he emerged, coughing, from the resultant cloud of dust, but saw the other running down a side passage. Before he could give chase, however, there was a flash of red light, and McGonagall and Tonks appeared.

"Wotcher, Bill." Tonks flashed a tense grin as they passed, heading out to join Dumbledore and Hagrid. McGonagall did not smile. Arthur ran up behind him.

"Bill, we need to get back outside. More Death eaters have arrived, Remus and Sirius are pinned down on the west side."

He followed his father back out of the gates; sure enough, more hooded and masked figures were materializing. The anti-apparition spell had been broken.

There were screams and shouts of glee from behind them. Bill turned to see a handful of prisoners grasping onto a masked Death Eater - he was going to apparate them away. Bill sent stunning spells into the group, and two fell before the rest disappeared. He hurried westwards to where Remus and Sirius were, but ran into them on the way. Remus was bleeding from an open cut on his arm, but Sirius was unscathed, and there was a light in his eyes that Bill had not seen there before. He's been waiting more than fourteen years for this, Bill realized. The chance to fight back against the people who took his friends and life from him all those years ago.

The Death Eaters were disappearing, but Bill felt a rush of cold and dark shapes of dementors were gathering at the gate, pouring out towards them, far too many to resist. There was another flash of fire, this one above their heads like a firework - the signal to retreat. The dementors may have been sympathetic to Voldemort, but they were creatures of desire first and foremost, and could not resist the emotion in both the Order members and Death Eaters right outside their gates. The escape was over, but so was the resistance. Grabbing hold of his father, Sirius, and Remus, Bill apparated them off of the stormy island in the North Sea, back to Grimmauld Place.

"How many escaped" Mad-Eye growled, as soon as all of the order members had been accounted for. Tonks was unconscious, and had been taken in secret to the Hogwarts hospital wing (accompanied by Remus), but no-one had been killed or seriously injured. Dumbledore sighed. "Not many, but enough. I know the Lestranges at least escaped; I saw Bellatrix disapparate with her husband Rodolphus and his brother Rabastan."

"Dolohov and Rookwood escaped as well," added Sirius bitterly.

"Several others got away while Sirius and Remus were trapped, I couldn't tell who" said Arthur.

"Maybe a dozen, then," Kingsley concluded.

Sirius swore.

"A dozen! That's almost half the size of the Order!"

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

"True. But it could have been many more, and we have gained some valuable information. Voldemort does not wish to reveal himself even yet, or he would have come to make sure his servants succeeded with such a crucial task. The dementors are also not yet under his full control, at least not openly. Unfortunately, that fact will leave the ministry enough room to deny Voldemort's involvement, as he no doubt intended. I expect Sirius will receive most of the blame once the news comes out."

"What's are next move?" Moody asked.

"Minerva, Rubeus and I must return to Hogwarts," answered Dumbledore. "I do not believe there is anything more we can do tonight. But the escape will have drawn many of Voldemort's supporters out of concealment. The next few days may allow us to track some of them, and uncover some of their hiding places."

* * *

It was after midnight when Bill got back to his flat. He stood outside the front door and took down some of the magical wards, though not all of them. Once the door was unsealed, his stepped inside, shrugging off his cloak and removing his shoes. The flat was quiet and peaceful; it was difficult to believe that just a couple of hours ago he had been at Azkaban in the middle of a storm. He found an empty bowl by the sink, and realized Fleur must have had cereal for dinner. It brought on a surge of guilt as he washed it, imagining her here, unable to go home, not knowing what was going on, eating by herself.

He made his way quietly towards his bedroom, unbuttoning his outer layers of clothing as he went. She was lying on his bed, wearing his pajama bottoms, fast asleep. The sheets were rumpled slightly but not covering her, and her arms were wrapped around his pillow. Gently he eased the covers out from under her. She stirred a little and opened her eyes.

"Bill?" she whispered sleepily.

"It's me. I'm home," he answered. He pulled the bedsheets up to her chin, and reached for the pile of blankets at the foot of the bed, but she grasped his hand.

"Stay?" she asked quietly.

"Fleur, I don't..."

"Please." He could hear the distress in her voice, and sensed that she wanted to be close to him. She must have been scared by the way he had left earlier. So he allowed her to pull him down onto the bed, sliding under the covers next to her. She snuggled up against him and he folded his arms around her. Her breathing slowed as he held her, until it was deep and even.

She seemed so small, so delicate and fragile, asleep in his arms. He thought back to earlier in the evening, remembering the feeling of her hands on his bare skin. How far would they have gone, if they hadn't been interrupted? He would have stopped before things went too far, he thought, but would she? Fleur was always trying to get closer, he was always the first one to pull away. Everything seemed to be moving so fast, now that they were together - it had only been a few weeks since their first kiss, and now here they were in the same bed.

Yet it didn't feel rushed or forced; now he was here, it seemed perfectly natural to lie here beside her as she fell asleep. It made him feel somehow more human, more whole, especially after the darkness, cold, fear and violence of Azkaban. She made a soft noise and turned a little, so that her back was pressed against his chest, her fingers closing slightly around his. He gently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, feeling the softness of her skin, the tiny bones underneath. He inhaled deeply, smelling her hair, feeling her heart beat through his chest.

He wanted this moment to last forever, to be repeated every night from now on. He had kept her at a distance to protect the Order, to protect her from the war, but that distance was closing more every day. There was only so long he could keep hiding the truth from her; he would have to come clean, or else risk driving her away. And as he lay there, feeling sleep draw nearer, he realized he didn't want to live the rest of his life without her.


	13. Searching without Clues

Author's Notes:

After a brief but bitter battle beset by a bothersome bout of writer's block, I'm back :)

On another note, apparently there's a community for Bill/Fleur stories, but I haven't actually figured out how to join it. If anyone knows, I'd love a tip...

* * *

Fleur awoke first. The pale light coming through the windows showed it was still fairly early. It was the second time she had awoken in this room, but this time Bill was beside her, still asleep. She felt his long arms encircling her, his hand still in hers, his soft breath near her ear. She brought her hand up to her face, pressing the back of his palm against her cheek.

For a few minutes she didn't move; it felt so safe, so peaceful just to stay here. Eventually she shifted towards the edge of the bed, sliding out of Bill's embrace. He stirred and opened his eyes, pulling her back to face him. His hand cupped her cheek, and he looked at her intently. He had that strange expression in his eyes, that she had first seen just before he kissed her for the first time.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

"I'm alright. Go back to sleep."

He closed his eyes again, letting her fingers slip through his. Fleur got up, looking out the window at the sun just over the horizon, glinting off the glass windows and rooftops of muggle London. She looked back at Bill, asleep again. He had got in sometime late last night, or early this morning, from where or what she didn't know. She noticed a sheaf of blank parchment on top of the little bookshelf. Finding a drafting pencil on top of his dresser, she looked back out the window, then sketched the outline of a few of the buildings she could see. The light was beautiful, but she couldn't capture it in pencil; pastels might have looked nice.

She turned to look at Bill again. Taking a fresh piece of parchment, she started to draw his face, his cheek creased slightly from his pillow, his hair loose and spread around his head like a flame colored mane. There was a shadow along his jaw, darker than his hair, and his cheekbones stood out over hollow cheeks. After a few minutes of concentrated sketching, she held her picture up to the light. The details were right, but there was something missing that she couldn't quite place. It looked like Bill, but it just...wasn't him. She sighed, folding the parchment and sliding it under her clothes to put in her sketch book later. Stretching, she wandered out into the kitchen. She looked through the cupboards a little absent-mindedly, her thoughts still dwelling on the sleeping man in the next room. She found eggs, sausage, mushrooms, green onions, and a little bit of red pepper only slightly wrinkled. Starting a pan on the range, she spread some butter in the bottom. When it started to sizzle she added the sausage, then the onions. A little cheese would be good over the top once it was finished, so she covered the pan and investigated the ice box.

Bill came into the kitchen just as she was cracking eggs into the pan.

"Morning, sleepy 'ead. I 'ave breakfast nearly ready, if you would like to start ze toast." She indicated a plate of sliced bread waiting to be toasted.

"Allright. I thought I smelled something good." He leaned in to kiss her cheek, but she turned her head, capturing his lips with hers. Holding the kiss, she reached up to caress the back of his neck, letting her fingers sink into the hair falling around his shoulders.

"Wow," he murmured softly after she finally broke away. "Good morning to you too."

She smiled.

"Well what are you waiting for? Weren't you going to start zat toast?"

"Yeah...I just got a little...distracted."

"Silly boy," Fleur shook her head.

"Did you want those eggs over hard?"

Fleur turned to look at the pan, where indeed the eggs were well on their way to cooked solid and had not yet been scrambled as they should have been at least a minute ago.

"Mon dieu! Zey will be ruined!" She hurredly grabbed the spatula to try to salvage her scramble.

"Silly girl. Did something distract you?"

* * *

The next several weeks were a lot of hard work for the Order of the Phoenix. Starting the night after the escape, order members fanned out across Britain, looking for traces of Death Eater activity. Bill had initially thought, with a spy among the Death Eaters, it would be a small task to locate the centers of Voldemort's operation. However he was exceedingly secretive, constantly shifting the locations of his meetings and rarely meeting with more than a few of his servants in the same place.

The Death Eaters were called together by their magical tattoos but, as Snape informed the Order, the tattoo would guide apparition, such that the Death Eaters themselves did not necessarily know where they were apparating too. Smaller meetings were held in secluded locations all over the country, while larger gatherings alternated between a few locations, but it was difficult to be sure where exactly they were. The recent escapees would have less knowledge of Voldemort's methods, and were more likely to leave some trail for the Order to follow, but in the weeks since the escape their efforts had been largely in vain.

Bill was often paired with Remus Lupin on such excursions. Sirius was bitter about this, since as both a known order member (to the Death Eaters) and a wanted fugitive (to the Ministry), Dumbledore seemed to think it imprudent for him to wander across the British countryside. On one weekend around the beginning of February, he and Remus were somewhere in the Yorkshire Dales. There had been some obscure reports of odd happenings in several small local villages, including a suspicious death from unknown causes. Such reports in muggle newspapers would have been overlooked by most members of the magical community, but Albus Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley kept an eye on the muggle news, looking for signs of Voldemort's activity.

There was a little slushy snow on the higher parts of the dales, but mostly they were just wet and cold. The ground was sodden and squelched under their feet as they hiked up a little trail from a tiny farming community called Halton Gill.

"You know, this is fairly close to one of the locations we were looking at a couple of months ago," commented Remus, pausing for a moment to turn around and scan the surrounding hills, dim and gloomy under the overcast sky.

"The werewolf den?" Bill thought for a moment. "Yeah, it is, isn't it. Do you think it's just werewolves in the area, not Death Eaters at all?"

"Or Death Eaters, and not werewolves," said Remus darkly. "We never did find the den, remember."

Bill consulted a small map of the area he had folded in a pocket of his jacket. It was marked with several red dots, as well as some larger shaded areas.

"These are the areas we looked at last time. Should we start with them, then work outwards?"

Remus nodded. "Let's get up to the top of this hill first."

The pair, now mostly out of sight from the village below, apparated up to the top of the slope, finding themselves ankle deep in wet snow.

Bill raised his wand, scanning for traces of magic. There were slight traces of magical energy all around them everywhere, but magic use in an area would leave residual changes. A skilled wizard could learn to 'feel' when magic had been used in a place, but here there was only there was only a faint residual energy.

"Not much here. Let's try over on the next hill."

They apparated again, arriving atop the hill across a narrow valley from the first one they climbed. Bill and Remus both searched the area again.

"There's a little more here," commented Bill. "Seems like darker magic, but I'm not sure..." "It is," said Remus. Bill looked at him, noticing a change in his partner's tone. "Werewolves."

Bill narrowed his eyes.

"Are you sure?"

Remus nodded.

"You know, this is fairly near where Fenrir Greyback was said to be a while ago. No-one's seen any sign of him lately, though."

Bill felt a slight chill thinking of the infamous werewolf, known for his deliberate attacks on innocents, particularly children.

"He was the one who..."

"Yes." Remus didn't seem to want to say anything more, so Bill dropped the subject. He raised his wand, closing his eyes, feeling the almost undetectable ripples of magical energy. They seemed to be coming from further down the slope, so he started walking slowly in that direction.

"I was seven."

Bill turned back to Remus, who had a slightly pained expression on his face.

"My father advocated for rights for various magical creatures, including werewolves. Unfortunately, some particularly vicious werewolves, such as Fenrir Greyback, gave werewolves in general a reputation for heartlessness and cruelty. My father made some statements towards the werewolf community that insulted Greyback, and he thought it would be fitting revenge if his own son became one."

Bill didn't know what to say. He'd never heard Remus talk about the circumstances surrounding his becoming a werewolf.

"Revenge. Punishment. Having a family member as a werewolf is shame and torture." Lupin's voice was bitter, his usually weary but kind face hard.

"Remus," Bill said quietly, "No-one who knows you would think that about you."

This seemed to upset Remus even more, however. He pressed his hands to his face, running them up into his hair.

"But it's true! It's dangerous to get close to me! I'm a monster!"

Bill thought he was starting to understand what was really upsetting his friend.

"This is about Tonks, isn't it?"

Remus looked taken back, the bitterness and pain of his expression giving way to surprise for a moment.

"Something happened between you two, and now you're regretting it, aren't you?"

"She...er, I...I mean, we, er..." Remus stuttered.

"Wow. That far already, huh?" Bill raised his eyebrows. "I'm impressed."

"What? No! We didn't - not if you're thinking -" He trailed off. "We kissed," he finished shortly. Bill walked a little further down the hill, following the traces of magic.

"You don't seem particularly happy about that."

"It was foolish of me, I shouldn't have..." Remus followed Bill down the slope.

"Knowing Tonks, I'm guessing she didn't give you much choice in the matter." Bill couldn't resist a slight smile. Remus sighed.

"No, not really."

They walked on in silence for a few minutes.

"Dumbledore wants me to try to find him."

Bill glance back at his companion.

"Fenrir Greyback. He wants me to find out where he is, try to make contact with him. He's very influential in certain werewolf circles, and if he is persuaded to join the Death Eaters many werewolves might follow him."

The pair combed the surrounding hills for several more hours, finding traces of dark magic here and there, but never any solid evidence of Death Eater presence. Bill suspected that some Death Eaters had in fact been there but covered their tracks well, Remus still insisted that it was werewolves. Eventually the light began to fade and they were forced to concede defeat, for that day at least. They returned to Grimmauld place to report yet another unsuccessful search; Mad-Eye and Tonks were there as well (Bill noticed Remus avoiding Tonks' gaze), having found no sign of death eaters in several of the Scottish isles.

The whole order met over dinner at Headquarters that night, a rather somber affair despite his mother's usual delicious cooking. None of the members who had gone into the field had found more evidence than Bill and Remus, and some less. Sirius was moody, and Dumbledore was pensive; he'd held some hope that the escape from Azkaban might finally have have awakened the Ministry to the growing strength of the Death Eaters and the failing of their control over the dementors, but Fudge had (as predicted) insisted on blaming Sirius rather than Voldemort. They eventually concluded that by this time they were unlikely to find any further traces of the escapees from Azkaban, and were better off pursuing other avenues.

As the Order's agent at Gringotts, Bill was called upon to try to track the financial dealings of the Dark Lord's supporters. Dealing in secrecy required bribes, decoys, and connections, which meant money changing hands. The Order believed that much of Voldemort's financial backing came from established wealthy families such as the Malfoys, but that was difficult to prove without an official investigation. The Death Eaters were careful, but large transfers were at least noted by the security office and Bill had access to the records room so they were hopeful that he would be able to find some evidence at least. He left Grimmauld place a little after eight o'clock, stopping only briefly at his own flat before heading to Diagon Alley to see Fleur.

* * *

Fleur watched the rain trickle down the glass, looking out onto the darkening street. It was sunday night, which almost always meant that Bill would be coming over for dinner. But he had been gone all weekend, doing he wouldn't say what, and she didn't expect him. She looked down at her sketch book, the last few pages of which contained half-finished drawings of various objects she could see from her seat by the window: a curiously shaped muggle building; the face of a familiar looking passer-by; the bowl of fruit on her kitchen counter, visible down the hall.

The few weeks after Christmas she had seen Bill almost every day, but ever since his strange disappearance in January she found herself spending much more time alone. She felt strangely melancholy without him, and sometimes had the curious sense that she was missing something important, as if she had left home without her shoes or her wand. It was a little like waking up from a dream in which your life was different in some particularly wonderful way. Everything in the real world seems a little out of place and not quite so vibrant, though you can't quite place why. She fingered Bill's amulet hanging round her neck. 'He remembers,' she said softly to herself. He wasn't gone, he hadn't forgotten her; he was just busy, doing...whatever he was doing, but he would be back soon.

She turned to a new page in her sketchbook, trying once again to draw him from memory. Closing her eyes, she conjured up a picture of him in her mind. His face, just inches from hers, the morning after he kissed her for the first time, standing in front of Gringotts bank. She started to draw, starting with a basic outline and working inwards. As she added detail it gradually started to look more and more like Bill himself, but when she was finished it once again just wasn't quite right. There was something about his expression that she just couldn't capture, even if he was right in front of her.

A sudden knock startled her out of her reverie. Closing her notebook she rose and went to the door, peering through the peephole as she undid the latch. Bill was standing just outside, looking tired and careworn. He gave her a weary smile as she opened the door.

"Hey there."

He stepped over the threshold and Fleur felt a sudden overwhelming need to touch him, to be sure he wasn't going to disappear. Wordlessly she wrapped her arms around him, feeling his solidness, smelling leather and earth and rain. His arms encircled her, and for a while they just stood there together. She felt Bill's chest expand as he inhaled, his breath in her hair. After a few minutes Bill spoke.

"Are you alright?"

"I missed you."

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I've had a lot...I haven't been around much lately."

She slowly released him, and he took off his boots, setting them by the door. Fleur took a few steps down the hall.

"Shall I make some tea?"

He nodded, following her and sitting down at the small table in her kitchen. She tapped the kettle with her wand, reaching for tea bags, milk, and sugar. A few moments later she set two steaming cups on the table and sat down across from Bill, curling her fingers around the warm mug.

"You can't tell me where you 'ave been?"

Bill shook his head apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I can't." He reached across the table to take her hand, squeezing it gently.

She gave him a small smile.

" But you could sleep more. You will be old and grey before your time if you work so 'ard, which will be a shame because you are so handsome."

He smiled back.

"I'll try. I don't think I'll have to be gone quite as much for a while, we can spend more time together. We'll do something special."

"I will 'old you to zat."


	14. Valentine's Day

Bill was around more after that, and was generally more cheerful and well-rested. They walked out of work together on Friday afternoon.

"Do you want to go on a date?" He asked her suddenly.

"What do you mean? We 'ave dates all ze time."

"Well," he began, "I was just thinking that tomorrow is Valentine's day, and we haven't really had like a proper date."

"I like our dates, zey are very romantic. I would rather just stay 'ome and make dinner with you."

"Really? No fancy restaurants, no midnight boat rides?"

"Midnight boat rides? In February in London? Zat sounds terrible."

Bill laughed.

"Okay, maybe I didn't think that one entirely through. Still..."

She shook her head. She'd been taken to enough fancy restaurants by men trying to impress her, who looked as far as the veela blood and no further.

"I just want to spend time with you."

Bill shrugged.

"You know, for a beautiful french woman, you are sometimes remarkably low maintenance."

"Low maintenance?"

"It means," Bill paused for a moment. "Never mind. It's good. I'll come over tomorrow afternoon then?"

It was silly of her to have been so melancholy lately, she thought, as they made dinner together Saturday night. She looked over at the flowers Bill had brought her, in a vase on the table. He had come over around two, and they had gone for a walk through Hyde Park; there was actually some sun for a little while, though it was still cold. After dark, Bill helped Fleur start a traditional boeuf bourguignon, a warming beef stew with red wine and vegetables. Of course, Bill helping meant it had taken about twice as long as usual, but eventually they had the meat, broth, and vegetables simmering in the oven. It had to cook down for a while, and they talked and laughed and enjoyed a wonderful evening together.

Once the meat and broth had been in the oven for about an hour and a half, Bill (under Fleur's direction) started on the mushrooms.

"Non, non, you must not crowd ze mushrooms!"

He looked up from his frying pan, perplexed.

"What do you mean, crowd them? They're mushrooms, they're not going to get claustrophobic."

"Ze mushrooms need room to breathe, you cannot just pile zem all in ze pan together. Like zis."

She reached for the spatula, stirring the mushrooms in the pan so that they were spaced evenly. Bill shook his head, bemused.

"Zey will be more flavorful zis way, you will see."

"If you say so. Should I start the pasta?"

Fleur thought for a moment. The stew was about ready to take out of the oven and put on the stove, the mushrooms could be added in about ten minutes, and the whole thing would need to simmer for another quarter of an hour.

"Yes, after we take ze stew out of ze oven." She opened the oven door, and Bill reached in with oven mitts to lift the pot out, setting it on the range, then pulled another pan out of the cupboard. He started to fill it with water, while Fleur lifted the lid carefully on the stew. Steam rose from the uncovered pan, along with a delicious aroma of beef, carrots, tomato and onions with a hint of thyme.

"Mmm, that smells good." Bill leaned over the pot to breathe in the scent.

"Of course it does," Fleur answered haughtily, "_I _am cooking it."

"Of course it does," Bill agreed, "_I'm _helping you with it."

"Don't be silly, you could not even cook ze mushrooms without my assistance." She tried to keep her haughty demeanor, but felt the corners of her mouth turning up in spite of her. Bill poured a little oil in the pan full of water, starting the stove.

"I can cook pasta without your assistance. In fact, I'll have you know I was able to feed myself perfectly well for six years after leaving home, before I ever met you."

Fleur reached up to touch his face, running her fingers down Bill's cheek, over his jaw, then down his neck. She felt the contours of his chest through his shirt, the muscles of his stomach.

"But it was not as good zen, was it?" she asked silkily, tilting her head up towards him, exposing her neck. He turned into her touch, his hand running down her back to rest on her hip as he brought his face close to hers.

"No, definitely not as good."

Fleur leaned in to meet his lips and felt his arms wrap around her, lifting her up onto her toes. She opened her mouth slightly, his lips parting in response to hers, and reached up to wind her fingers into the roots of his hair, pulling him even closer into her.

They were interrupted by a sudden sizzling sound, as the pot of water for the pasta began to boil over.

"Hold that thought," Bill muttered, and she reluctantly released him. He slid the pot onto a different burner, tipping a box of noodles into the water and stirring it. "Should I add the mushrooms to the stew?"

She leaned over the pan; the mushrooms were lightly browned.

"Perfect, yes, put zem in."

He tipped the pan of mushrooms into the larger pot. Fleur turned the heat up on the stove so that the stew could come to a boil, then lowered it to a steady simmer. Soon everything was ready, and Bill strained the pasta and she retrieved a pair of wide, shallow bowls.

* * *

As they sat down at Fleur's small table, Bill conjured a candle between them, dimming the lights.

"It is Valentine's day after all. We at least need a candle."

"I never liked Valentine's day. Usually I try to ignore it."

Bill smiled, cutting a small piece of beef and scooping an onion onto it.

"Oh, that's delicious. You sound like my brother Charlie. He used to call it 'singles awareness day.'"

Fleur delicately swirled some pasta around her fork and took a bite.

"Of course it is delicious, it is my mother's recipe. What is single awareness day?"

"As in, 'On this day, I am made very aware that I am single,'" Bill grinned.

"And what about you?" she asked.

Bill raised his eyebrows.

"What about me?"

"Did you feel ze same way?"

Bill shrugged, thinking back to Valentine's days of the past. He hadn't been single for most of them, or at least hadn't been alone. Ever since about his fifth year at Hogwarts he'd never had that problem. His mother had been delighted, and said it was because he was so handsome; his brothers were usually annoyed, once they were old enough to be jealous. Except for one or two occasions in Egypt when he was actually underground at the time, Valentines day for Bill had always included a date with a pretty girl, though never with the same one twice.

"I don't know. I never minded it, really. But why didn't you like it? Most girls I know get all excited and mushy on Valentines day - surely you never had problems getting a date?"

Fleur shook her head.

"No I never 'ad problems getting _a_ date. My problem was getting a date I could actually stand to be in the same room with for more than an hour."

Bill laughed.

"Now don't be too generous, they can't all have been that good."

"No, really. I would 'ave a dozen different boys ask me out on Valentines day, and I was lucky if I knew 'alf of them. Zey would 'ave nothing interesting to say, zey would just boast or try to impress me. Eventually I stopped bothering altogether, and just said no out of principle."

"Well I'm glad you didn't say no to me."

Fleur gave him a small smile.

"You're different."

"How so?"

She seemed to mull over her answer and didn't speak for a moment, taking a bite of carrot instead.

"You never treated me any different," she said at last. "You never stared at me, never tried to ask me out or made lewd comments. You took ze time to get to know me, instead of just judging me by 'ow I look."

Bill reached across the table to take her hand. "I'm glad I did."

* * *

It was getting late by the time they finished eating, and Bill rose, carrying their empty dishes over to the sink.

"Fleur, go look in the ice-box."

A little confused, she stood and followed him.

"There should be a small box in there."

Sure enough, there was a small brown package, tied with string.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

"One of _my _mother's recipe's."

Fleur untied the string, lifting the lid off the little cardboard box. Inside were several large strawberries covered in different kinds of chocolate.

Bill came up behind her. "Mum used to say 'it's not Valentine's day without chocolate covered strawberries.' They're hard to get this time of year; I used to send them home from Egypt. Try one."

She lifted one out of the box; it was half covered in dark chocolate, the other half milk, with creamy white lines over it. Slowly she bit off the tip; the strawberry was fresh and juicy, the chocolate melting in her mouth.

"Mmm, C'est délicieux."

"I take it that means you like it then."

She nodded vigorously.

"It's wonderful. 'Ave some." She lifted the strawberry up to his mouth, and he took a small bite, savoring the flavor. They finished the first one together, then she put the lid back on the box. "We can save ze rest for later." She took his hand, leading him into her living room.

"Now, back to what I was saying before we were interrupted." Bill looked confused for a moment. "Remember? When you told me to 'old zat thought?"

Recognition flared in his eyes, but by that time she was already kissing him passionately. He responded enthusiastically, his hand coming up to caress her neck, his thumb brushing along her jawline. She pressed her body up against his and he took a small step back, bumping into the sofa so that he sat down rather hard, pulling Fleur down on top of him.

For a moment the mood was broken, and Fleur actually laughed at Bill's expression of surprise, but she soon realized their new position had certain advantages. She pressed her lips back against his, enjoying the new angle and not having to stand up on her toes to reach him. She ran her tongue over his lips, which parted to allow her access. Bill's hands moved down her back, caressing her hips briefly before moving up her sides. His thumbs brushed against the sides of her breasts, and she arched her back, pressing even more into him. He was gentle, letting her set the pace, but his touches found sensitive spots that made her whimper softly into his mouth. Needing to feel more of his skin, she ran her hands under his shirt, exploring the muscles that spread across his back and under his arms. They flexed as he held her close, and she felt his stomach tighten a little as her hands moved over it.

* * *

For a while Bill lost himself in Fleur, marveling at the softness of her skin, the smooth curves of her slender body. He felt her undo his ponytail, running her fingers through his hair and down his back, then up under his shirt. She was so slight, sometimes it seemed as though she might break if he held her too tight, yet she was surprisingly strong and lithe. Her hands moved lower, brushing across his stomach, and he felt small fingers fumbling with his belt buckle.

A little reluctantly, he pulled away. It was too soon; they couldn't go there yet, not while he still kept secrets from her. She didn't know...there was so much she didn't know, she didn't realize how dangerous it was to be involved with him at all.

"It's late," he said quietly. "I should probably go."

"You could stay," she answered softly, laying her hand against his chest. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed, her long, silvery hair tousled. She brushed a few loose strands out of her face, and he felt her hips shift slightly against his. It almost broke his resolve, seeing the wanting look in her eyes, but there was uncertainty there as well, which made him more sure of his decision. She wasn't ready either, not really.

Bill shook his head.

"Not tonight."

He could see the disappointment in her face, and it made his heart ache. But he thought of Remus, trying to track down Fenrir Greyback, and his own feeling of foreboding that he would not survive the war. He couldn't make that kind of commitment with her before she understood exactly what it would mean, how quickly it could all end.

Fleur slid off his lap onto the sofa next to him, letting him stand. He turned, taking her hands and pulling her up after him and into a gentle embrace, as though just by wrapping his arms around her he could protect her from all of his fears.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said softly. Then, with a final kiss goodnight, he left for his own home.

* * *

Fleur stood outside her door, watching Bill's retreating back disappear down Diagon Alley. There was no denying she was a little disappointed. Although she perhaps had not admitted it to herself, when he said 'we'll do something special,' a part of her had hoped he meant taking their relationship further.

She'd had a handful of hormone-driven flings during her school years, but never felt a strong enough personal connection to want to go much beyond just kissing. She'd wanted to wait for someone really special, someone she really loved, who knew her and cared for who she was, not just what she looked like. That person hadn't come along until Bill. Whenever they were together, she found herself wanting to be closer. Even touching, kissing him, didn't feel close enough; she wanted to feel his skin on hers, explore every part of his body and learn every subtlety of how he thought. She was sure that she wanted Bill to be her first - her only, if she was honest with herself.

She thought of the three little words she so badly wanted to be able to say. But there was always this distance, separating her from him. Occasionally, if she said something that implied more permanence or commitment, he got this strange, uncomfortable expression on his face that she didn't understand. When she tried to deepen their relationship, he withdrew. Sometimes she thought she was finally going to break through, but he never let her completely close that gap between them.

Yet when they were together he was so gentle, so loving; it was strange that she should be afraid to tell him that she loved him, when she had never felt so loved by anyone. But was he _in love_ with her? He cared for her, but for some reason he didn't seem to want a long-term relationship with her. It was a bizarre idea - but everything about Bill seemed to be unusual and unexpected, and there was so much he never explained.

But she trusted him. Maybe she just wanted things to move faster than he did; he would come through in time.

"I love you, Bill," she spoke into the empty night, and shut the door.

* * *

Bill walked swiftly, relishing the physical exertion, the cold air on his face. Merlin, that had been hard. He still thought he'd done the right thing, but he could tell his rejection hurt her.

"I can't keep doing this," he muttered. He was good at keeping secrets; discreet enough for Antonio to let him take top secret vault designs out of the Gringotts, to converse with cunning Goblins about allegiances without revealing the Order of the Phoenix, to conceal his double life from his coworkers and superiors. But keeping secrets from Fleur was a different thing entirely. She was so trusting; she simply accepted the fact that he hid a huge part of his life from her.

'But she shouldn't have to,' he said to himself. She deserved everything he had and more, not this half-life he was giving her. He wanted to tell her the truth, he wanted her to know why he had to leave so often, what he was doing when he was gone and why he was so secretive. It would make things so much easier, not having to hide it.

'Easier for me, maybe,' he corrected himself. It would hardly be easier for her, knowing the risks he was taking by being a part of the order.

He passed through the Leaky Cauldron, which was quiet and dark; a handful of late-nighters hovered around the embers of the fire, and he caught a whiff of pipe smoke and the murmur of low voices before heading out into muggle London.

It seemed colder in the muggle street, and Bill shivered and dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. The truth was, he wanted more than just not having to hide the truth from Fleur. He wanted to tell her he loved her; to tell her every day when he woke up and before he went to sleep, for the rest of his life.

He turned to cross the street, checking for traffic. An illuminated display in storefront ahead of him caught his eye. As he crossed, he saw it was a jewelry store; the shop was closed, but little lights in the front window display had been left on, and gold, silver, and precious stones glinted at him. He paused in front of the window, looking at a collection of wedding rings arranged in pairs on a white cushion.

Bill shook his head. 'Now who's the one rushing into things,' he said to himself. It was a foolish thought, especially in times like these. He thought again of Remus; he had a point, Bill had to admit. And Fleur was so young; he sometimes forgot she was only eighteen. She wouldn't be ready for that kind of commitment, and it wouldn't be fair to ask it of her. What if he was killed? She'd be a widow before she was twenty; her life was just beginning, and he couldn't ask her to risk everything like that.


	15. The Nightmare

In spite of the best efforts of the Order of the Phoenix, it appeared that Voldemort was always a step ahead of them. The few remaining trails left by the Azkaban escapees were long since cold, and it seemed that the Dark Lord was content to gather strength in secret, biding his time and concealing his hand. Since the attack on Arthur Weasley there had been no further attempts to breach security in the department of mysteries, no mysterious deaths had been reported, and the Order's spies brought back little to no useful information.

This was a source of further tension between Sirius and Severus at the next meeting of the Order, in mid March. As Bill descended the stairs, he heard agitated voices.

"What do you mean, you can't tell us whether he's gained any more followers? What's the point of a spy if he can't bring back a single bloody useful bit of information?"

Sirius' tone was loud and accusatory, but Snape's answers were quiet and disdainful.

"The Dark Lord does not see fit to share that information with me, lest it fall into the wrong hands."

"You don't sound particularly upset about that. Aren't you supposed to be at least _trying _to find out?"

"Yes, because you're putting so much effort into helping the order. What between your dusting and cleaning, it's a wonder the Dark Lord hasn't surrendered already."

Bill opened the door, entering the basement dining room as his father intervened.

"Sirius, Severus, for goodness sake! We're supposed to be on the same side!"

Snape and Sirius, who had been standing on opposite sides of the table, reluctantly sat down, still glaring at one another. The order members began to talk quietly amongst themselves, and Bill joined them, taking a seat next to his parents.

"Where's Dumbledore?" he asked.

"Hasn't got here yet," answered Arthur. "Neither have Mad-Eye or Kingsley."

"He is coming though?" With the increasing ministry interference at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had been absent at several order meetings, trying to control the damage done by the ministry's interference at Hogwarts. A week prior he'd had to hire a new divination teacher (apparently he found a centaur to do the job), and ensure that Sybil Trelawney remained at Hogwarts. Since she was the one who had made the prophecy about Harry and Voldemort, it would have been extremely dangerous for her to leave.

At that moment, the door swung open and Albus Dumbledore entered, followed by Kingsley Shacklbolt and Alastor Moody.

"Thank you for your patience, everyone. I was detained at the Ministry, where I have been protesting the Minister's continued inimical interference at Hogwarts. I believe we are all here now; let us begin with you, Severus. Can you tell us anything more of Voldemort's movements?

The meeting turned out to be less than usually productive. Little new information had been gathered, and it seemed it would be up to Voldemort to make the next move. The Order was left guessing as to what exactly that would be. They knew he wanted to hear the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries, but how he would go about it remained a mystery, since he had made no further attempts recently. Dumbledore dismissed the order with a warning.

"I cannot be sure, but I suspect he is preparing for something more daring. He will be uncertain about making another move before hearing the prophecy. We must be ready for anything."

* * *

As it turned out, it was not the Death Eaters but the Ministry of Magic that made the next move. One morning, early in April, Bill awoke to a persistent tapping on his window. Erroll was outside, looking exhausted, with a letter. He climbed out of bed, opening the window to let the miserable bird inside, taking the proffered letter.

_Bill, _

_As you will no doubt hear soon enough, the minister tried to have Albus arrested late last night. We'll have to be extra careful from now on - the ministry will probably try to arrest anyone affiliated with the Order. If you can, come by for dinner tonight. _

_ - Dad_

Bill read the letter twice through. On what grounds could Fudge possibly arrest Dumbledore? But his father was right; it made their own position even more difficult. The Ministry seemed well on its way to being just as much an enemy to the Order of the Phoenix as Voldemort himself.

After work, he went straight to Grimmauld place to learn more of the details from his parents.

"Mum?" he called up the stairs. "Dad?"

He heard a muffled thump from above, and his mother's head appeared over the balcony on the first floor.

"Is that you, Bill dear? Wonderful, could you come up and help me for a moment?"

Bill climbed the stairs, and found his mother standing in the doorway of the drawing room, looking a little strained.

"It's these books - I was dusting and took a couple off that bookshelf in the corner, but now they won't go back on."

Bill looked at the pile of books laying innocuously in front of the shelf. Experimentally, he picked one up; it fell open to a page on ancient curses. Shrugging, he closed it and set it on the shelf. But as soon as he withdrew his hand from its binding, it suddenly launched itself off the shelf, narrowly missing his head as it flew into the middle of the room.

"Wow. I see what you mean," he commented. "Did you ask Sirius about it?"

His mother sighed.

"He's upstairs, with Buckbeak, moping as usual. He said he didn't care what I did with the books, wasn't helpful at all."

Bill experimented a little on the books; apparently there was some kind of complicated charm that made the books insist on being read once they were touched. He tried flipping through the pages of one, a rather nasty volume on potions and poisons, but it apparently objected to his impatience and snapped shut viciously. Bill ended up placing binding charms on each of the books, one at a time as he placed them on the shelf. They seemed to strain against his spells, but stayed in place.

"I recommend not touching them," he told his mother. "Dad sent me a note about Dumbledore - is it true that Fudge tried to have him arrested?"

His mother nodded, looking angry.

"Absolutely absurd. As though Dumbledore wasn't the main reason You-know-who doesn't rule all of England!"

They heard the sound of the front door opening and closing downstairs.

"That'll be your father - he knows more about it."

Bill went out onto the landing. His father had indeed arrived, looking tired and rather annoyed.

"Hi Dad. How was work?"

Arthur scowled.

"Fudge has gone off his rocker."

"Yeah, I got your letter. Why did he suddenly decide to arrest Dumbledore?"

"Apparently, for conspiracy against the ministry." Arthur shook his head. "Completely ridiculous - why would Dumbledore conspire against the ministry? He could have gotten the position as minister for magic as soon as saying so, if he'd ever wanted it."

Bill and Molly headed downstairs to join Arthur in the entryway.

"And what did you mean, Fudge _tried _to arrest him?" Bill asked.

At this, Arthur actually smiled, albeit rather grimly.

"Well, apparently Fudge showed up at Hogwarts at the request of that Umbridge woman, bringing along an assistant and several aurors. He accused Dumbledore of plotting against him, then tried to have him arrested, but Dumbledore stunned all of them and disappeared." He shook his head. "As if they could have kept him in Azkaban, or anywhere else. He came by late last night, to tell us."

"So where is he?" Bill asked. "Will he be staying here then?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Apparently he's got something else to... 'research,' was his word. Wouldn't say very much about it, but he did mention he's going to be traveling quite a bit, and won't be staying here. Makes our position a lot harder though; it's like a war on two fronts, now."

Bill nodded. His thoughts exactly.

* * *

That night he lay awake in his bed, watching the moonlight slide slowly across his wall. Fudge didn't know about the Order of the Phoenix, at least as far as they knew. But if he did, he would certainly try to have them arrested, as he had Dumbledore. The Death Eater influence in the ministry was as yet small, but would have dire consequences; it would be easy to convince Fudge that anyone associated with the Order ought to be held in Azkaban, if he needed any convincing in the first place. And since Voldemort was the one really pulling the strings behind the dementors, any stay in Azkaban was essentially a death sentence.

His thoughts turned to Fleur. He wanted so badly to tell her the truth, but to do so would put her in grave danger, especially now. The Death Eaters wouldn't be picky about making sure they had a real, full fledged member of the Order of the Phoenix. They would torture anyone they caught for information, then kill them. And if the Order was undermined or betrayed, everyone even slightly connected to it would certainly be killed. He thought of Cedric Diggory, who had done nothing but be in the wrong place at the wrong time; he had been companionable enough with Harry to take the cup at the same time, and died for it. Bill gradually drifted into a fitful sleep, plagued by half formed thoughts of Fleur and the dangers of the order.

_Bill apparated to the front doorstep of Grimmauld place. Remus was supposed to report to the Order tonight on his attempts to find Fenrir Greyback. Opening the door, he started to head downstairs, but realized that the house was oddly silent. Usually there was at least a soft murmur of voices coming from the basement dining room before an order meeting. He checked his watch - he was actually a little late, all of the order should be there. With a growing feeling of foreboding, he pushed open the basement door. _

_Remus was sitting in his usual chair, between Tonks and Sirius. His eyes were open, and there was an expression of mild surprise on his face. He was dead. _

_Tonks wasn't moving either. Sirius was slouched in his chair, and might have looked almost asleep except for the vacant expression in his eyes. Bill walked around the table, and saw Alastor Moody in the corner of the room, crumpled and broken. His legs stuck out at odd angles, and his magical eye was missing. _

_There was a sudden noise from the next room. Panic rising in his chest, he drew his wand and approached the kitchen. He came round the corner, only to be met by a flash of green light. He threw himself on the ground, the spell grazing by just barely over him, and tried to return a blasting curse. _

_But there was something wrong with his magic. Instead of the wave of power that should have reduced the kitchen to dust, there was only a slight ripple, and the walls didn't even tremble. Another spell hit near him, and he caught a glimpse of the caster, but was unable to see his face. He tried to cast a shield, but again his magic was feeble and useless. _

_He crawled a few meters, trying to get back towards the stairs, then stumbled to his feet and broke into a run. More curses hit near him, and he tried to return stunning spells, but nothing happened. He fled up the stairs, out of the basement, then kept going up to the first floor, second floor. He reached the master bedroom on the third floor, and dove under the bed, hiding. _

_A cold, cruel voice called up after him. It sounded vaguely familiar, like someone in the order, but he couldn't place it. _

'_Do you think you can escape? Where will you go?'_

'_You can't kill us all,' he wanted to call back defiantly, but it came out as a feeble whimper. _

'_Run as long as you want, but you can't hide. There's no-where left to hide. You're the last one, didn't you know?'_

_What did he mean, the last one? He heard footsteps on the stairs, and tried to seal the door, but again his magic was useless. In desperation, he scrunched his eyes closed and concentrated on the first place that came to mind; home, The Burrow._

_When he opened his eyes, he was glad to find himself in the familiar sitting room. But something was wrong here too. The hands on the clock, which should have said where each member of the Weasley family was, were missing. He hurried into the kitchen, but it was empty. Running up the stairs, he burst into Ginny's room. It was empty as well. Up the stairs again, to Percy's room: empty. Across the hall, the twin's shared bedroom: empty. Up the stairs again; his parents' room. Slowly, he opened the door. They were in bed, not moving. As he moved closer, he realized they were fully dressed, lying on top of the covers, their eyes open. He tried to speak, but no sound came out. Suddenly there was a loud crash from downstairs. The traitor was here. Bill tried once again to cast a protective charm, and failed. He closed his eyes and apparated to his flat in London. He found a note on his table, hastily scrawled in Fleur's usually elegant writing:_

_ 'Someone is chasing me, I don't know where you are. He wants to know about the order of the phoenix. I won't tell him anything, Bill. Come help me, I don't know where to go. Please, help me, I need you.'_

_He heard another crack from the next room and disapparated again, arriving in Fleur's flat. She wasn't in the sitting room, or her bedroom. He heard a sound from the kitchen, and slowly came round the corner._

_She was on the floor, not moving. There were spatters of blood around her, on the floor and cabinets._

"_No!" Bill cried out. "No, no, no, no, no." He ran across the kitchen, stumbling to her side and falling on his knees beside her. Her clothes were ripped, her perfect face bruised and battered. A deep cut ran down her neck, oozing blood. _

"_Please, don't be dead!" Gently, he gathered her into his arms, and felt the tiniest heartbeat through her chest. Her eyes fluttered open, and he cupped her face with his hand, stroking her cheek. _

"_Fleur," he whispered, "Fleur I'm here, it's okay, I'm here now, everything's going to be all right." _

_She opened her lips, trying to speak, but no sound came. He leaned close to her, kissing her temples, her cheeks, her chin. She tried again, and he finally caught her words. _

"_I didn't tell him anything." _

_Bill brushed her hair out of her face, kissed her forehead._

"_I know, I know. You're so brave, Fleur. Everything's going to be all right now." _

_But the light faded from her eyes. _

"_No, please! Stay with me!" he cried, but her body had gone limp. He cradled her like a baby, rocking her in his arms, but he could no longer feel her heartbeat. Her deep blue eyes, once sparkling with life, were glassy and empty. _

"_Please!" he begged, "Please, God, no! Take me instead, take anything, please!" _

_His voice faded into a painful whisper. "Please, Fleur, I love you, I love you, don't leave me..."_

Bill jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat, his heart pounding. He was trembling all over, and his face was wet, he couldn't tell whether from sweat or tears. For a few seconds he didn't know where he was; he felt sick and terrified. Gradually, he realized he was safe in his bed. The Order hadn't been betrayed, no-one had died.

'It was just a dream,' he told himself. 'Just a dream.' He tried to lie back down, go back to sleep, but he couldn't get the image out of his head of Fleur, her eyes vacant, dead in his arms. Dead, trying to protect the order. Dead, because of him. He wanted to see her, run his fingers over her perfect features. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin, the steady beating of her heart. He wanted to know she was alive and breathing and whole.

It made him restless and agitated, and he tossed and turned and kicked the covers off. He felt a sudden need to be outside, feel fresh air in his lungs and hard ground beneath his feet. Getting out of bed, he hastily pulled on a pair of trousers and a sweater, pocketing his wand. He made his way to the door, slipped on some shoes, and stepped outside.

The night was still completely dark, or as dark as it got in the middle of London. It was cold and cloudy, and a few small drops of rain fell as he stood there in the courtyard. All the doubts about his relationship with Fleur were rising to the surface again, and he still couldn't banish the vision of what could happen to her if the Order was betrayed, if the Death Eaters found out she was connected to it. He started to run, with no particular direction in mind but away from his fears and the memory of his nightmare. The rain started to fall in earnest, soaking through his sweater and his shoes, but he didn't feel cold; he ran faster, splashing across streets and up alleys until he wasn't exactly sure where he was.

He emerged from a narrow alley, and found himself just across the street from an open green space he hadn't seen before. Tall trees stood over a grassy lawn, dark in the moonless, clouded night. Bill slowed, walking under the trees and feeling the wet earth give under his feet. The rain let up a little, but he shivered, feeling cold for the first time. Was it selfish of him to be involved with her at all? He was putting her in danger every moment he spent with her, without her knowledge or consent.

But the thought of not seeing her anymore... Never again seeing the way she creased her brow, how she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was concentrating, the way her eyes lit up when she smiled at him. Never feeling her lips on his, her arms around his chest, her delicate hands on his skin. Never hearing her voice whispering in his ear, her footsteps in the next room, her soft breathing as she slept.

Bill shivered again, feeling suddenly exhausted. The clouds were no longer as dark as they had been, and the sky was lightening in the east. He drew his wand, concentrating on the location of his flat, but his thoughts came back again to Fleur.

"Point me."


	16. Questions and Conspiracy

Fleur woke up early, to a distant twitter of birdsong. Last night's rain had stopped, and pale sunlight shone through the cracks in the eastern clouds. She got out of bed, pulling a fleecy jumper over her head and rolling up the sleeves. The clock by her bed told her it was just before seven, so she had plenty of time for a leisurely breakfast before she had to get ready for work.

Sliding her feet into a pair of slippers, she walked down the hall. A croissant would be nice, some fresh orange juice, maybe some yoghurt. A glimpse through the sitting room window showed Diagon Alley, the sunlight glinting off wet flagstones. The street was still empty, except for - she paused, took a step back. A tall figure with red hair was walking up the stairs towards her flat.

She hurried to the door, opening it just as he reached the top step.

"Bill?"

He looked pale and exhausted, as though he hadn't slept at all. His usually sleek hair was unkempt, hanging loose around his shoulders and into his face. His eyes were hollow and had a dark, haunted look, making him seem much older than he was.

Wordlessly he reached out to touch her cheek, an almost painful expression on his face. His thumb brushed along her cheekbone, then traced the edge of her face down to her jaw. His touch was incredibly gentle, barely grazing her skin, and she involuntarily closed her eyes for a moment. She felt him step closer, his hand sliding down her neck and over her shoulder to spread across her back, his other arm encircling her as well. His breathing hitched, his chest tightening, and she opened her eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asked, reaching up to smooth the creases around his eyes. He didn't answer, but pulled her tightly against him, pressing his lips against the top of her head. Fleur wrapped her own arms around him, feeling the tension in his back and shoulders, his shallow, labored breathing. Bill was always so relaxed, so calm and in control. It was a little unnerving to see him so distressed, especially when she didn't understand why. It brought home once again that there was so much he never showed her.

"Are you all right?" she asked. Gradually, she felt the knotted muscles release, his breathing ease.

His answer was so quiet she could barely hear it.

"Now I am."

He released her, his right hand finding hers. She looked back into his face, and was glad to see that the darkness had gone from his eyes; they had that strange expression she didn't know what to call.

"Do you want breakfast?"

His face cracked into a smile, and he instantly looked years younger.

"I'd love some."

Bill didn't speak at all as he helped her warm a plate of croissants, cut up some fresh fruit, and mix it with some granola and yoghurt. They sat down at her table, but for several minutes he didn't take a bite of his breakfast; he just watched her with that curious expression on his face. Fleur smiled, uncomprehendingly.

"What are you looking at?"

"You," he answered simply.

"You see me all ze time. What's bothering you?"

"I just...wanted to make sure."

"Make sure of what?" Fleur was a little confused.

He reached across the table, laying his hand over hers.

"You," he said again. "Just you."

After breakfast, Bill cleared the dishes, washing them and putting them away in Fleur's cabinets. He glanced at the clock.

"I should probably go...you know, shower, put some proper clothes on." He smiled again. "Now I've got a desk job, I can't really be seen showing up at work like this."

He pulled her into another embrace, then kissed her, softly, sweetly, on the lips.

"I'll see you in a bit."

And then he was gone, leaving Fleur somewhat at a loss. It was hard to tell what was going on under the surface with Bill. Something had clearly troubled him, for him to show up at her door so early, looking so woebegone. But he didn't confide in her, didn't share his worries or his fears. His moments of vulnerability were rare and brief, and it seemed he always had to deal with things by himself, never letting her in deep enough to see what was wrong.

She remained a little distracted for the rest of the morning as she prepared for work. In spite of that, when she arrived at Gringotts she couldn't help but notice that the atmosphere of the offices in the back halls seemed unusually tense. She made her way past accounting, customer relations, and investment services towards the International Liaisons office. Several times two or three people walked by her in the halls, talking seriously, only to fall silent until she had passed. There had been a somewhat similar mood in January; everyone had been talking about a prison break, when several old Death Eaters had escaped. Fleur didn't get the newspaper (Bill said it was practically all rubbish nowadays), but she'd heard bits and pieces of the story. Now she caught whispers of 'Dumbledore,' 'Fudge,' 'conspiracy,' and 'arrest.'

When she got to her own office, she found Eugene Arceneau standing just outside his office, talking to Antonio Benelli from security, who held a rolled up newspaper in his left hand. He looked up as she approached.

"Morning Fleur."

"Morning Monsieur Anceneau, Monsieur Benelli. What is going on?"

Arceneau glanced briefly at his friend from security.

"Didn't you read the paper this morning?"

Fleur shook her head. Benelli unrolled the newspaper he was holding, and held it out for Fleur to take. The front page had a picture of Albus Dumbledore on it, under the headline.

DUMBLEDORE CONSPIRES AGAINST THE MINISTRY

Fleur briefly scanned over the first few lines of the article.

_Late last night, aurors were summoned to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, based on reliable information that Albus Dumbledore was preparing for a violent coup that would overthrow the ministry of magic, using children as members of his 'army.'_

She looked up at the older men.

"Is it true?" she asked.

Arceneau shrugged his shoulders.

"Apparently he resisted arrest, and the article says he confessed." But Benelli shook his head.

"I've met Albus Dumbledore. He's brilliant, but not power hungry in the least. Besides, do you remember when Millicent Bagnold retired? Everyone was clamoring for Dumbledore as minister for magic, but he refused the position. In fact, from what I've heard, he's been offered the position as minister every time it has been open since 1955, and refused it every time. Why would he refuse it for forty years, then suddenly decide to take it by force? It doesn't make any sense."

"But why would Fudge have him arrested, if it wasn't true? And why did he resist arrest?" Arceneau countered. "Innocent men don't run."

Fleur left them to their debate, and went to find Bill. He wasn't in his office, or in the break room, or anywhere else as far as she could tell. Disappointed, she headed back to her own office. Her boss was still talking to Benelli, so rather than interrupt him she opened in the 'closed files' drawer to see if there were any finished transactions. Every transfer had to be meticulously documented and recorded, especially large international transactions such as went through the International Liaisons department. Each customer at Gringotts had a file in the archives room, and once a particular transaction was completed the transaction folder had to be added to the files of all involved parties in archives. This was usually done at the end of the day, according to bank policy, but the caverns were sealed promptly at five o'clock, so sometimes folders didn't get added until the next day.

Filing was one of the least demanding aspects of Fleur's job, but it did have to be done, and since archives was down in the caverns, it was actually a rather interesting trip. A concealed door led to a magically propelled cart, which moved somewhat slower than the ones that led to the vaults, down a separate track to the locked doors where all Gringotts' financial records were stored.

Fleur obtained the archives key from Magnorik, an old and foul-tempered goblin who oversaw internal security, and headed downstairs to the concealed door. But when she arrived at the records room, she found someone already inside it.

"Bill?"

He turned around, sliding a drawer shut as he did so.

"Fleur?"

"Zere you are. I was looking for you earlier."

Fleur glanced past him and noticed several drawers were still slightly open; one marked La-Li, as well as Ma-Mi next to it.

"What are you doing down 'ere?" she asked.

"Just looking for some files," he answered, a little dismissively. "What about you? No-one usually comes down here in the morning."

She held up the folders she had been carrying.

"Monsieur Arceneau was arguing with Monsieur Benelli about Professor Dumbledore's arrest, so I thought I would do some filing. Did you 'ear about it?"

Bill frowned, nodding.

"Yeah...I don't know what Fudge is thinking, trying to have Dumbledore arrested."

" 'E is innocent then?"

"Dumbledore doesn't care about the ministry of magic. The only one he's conspiring against..." He trailed off.

Fleur could guess what he had been about to say. She checked the names on the folders she had brought down with her, and found the appropriate drawers.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Hmm?"

"The files...?"

"Oh, er...yeah, I was just doing some checking on security changes for a few vaults."

She slid her own folders into the correct files. Bill seemed inexplicably discomfited by her question. Besides, didn't the security offices keep separate records of all security-related alterations?

His voice cut through her contemplation.

"Ready to go?"

She shut the drawers and followed him back to the cart, locking the door behind her.

Bill still seemed preoccupied, Fleur thought, as they finished dinner that night. She had accompanied him back to his flat after work, as she often did. He didn't mention anything further about his curious behavior that morning, but he sometimes got a faraway look, as though he were worrying about something else. Like now, for instance; he was looking in her direction, but his eyes were slightly glazed, and didn't meet hers.

"What are you thinking about?"

He shook his head, his expression becoming more present.

"Nothing in particular."

She wanted to ask him more about his strange visit that morning, but was interrupted by a tapping, scratching sound from the kitchen.

Fleur followed Bill as he went to investigate. A large brown owl was just outside the kitchen window, standing on the windowsill.

"That's one of the Hogwarts owls." Bill stood to let it in. It settled on the counter, ruffling its feathers importantly, and extended its left leg, which clutched a tightly rolled sheet of parchment. The owl flew off immediately as soon as Bill took the letter, and he unrolled it slowly, heading back towards the sitting room. He grinned almost immediately upon opening it, but as he read it through it further his brow creased.

"Huh."

"What is it?" Fleur asked.

"It's from Fred and George - my twin brothers. They want me to look for a premises on Diagon Alley for them, for a joke shop they want to open."

The news didn't seem to fit with the concerned expression on Bill's face.

"If zat is what zey want to do, it is good, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I...it's just, they're still in school."

Fleur didn't understand.

"So...?"

"Well, neither of them has ever had an actual job. I know they've been trying to sell some of the tricks they've invented, but I just don't see where they would get the money to start a shop."

"Maybe zey got a loan?"

Bill shook his head.

"They wouldn't qualify for a loan from Gringotts. My family..." She noticed the tips of his ears flushed very slightly, "...we've never had much money. I've done all right, working as a curse breaker, but...even if my parents cosigned... Besides, there's no way that Mum would approve of them starting a joke shop."

He frowned.

"The thing is, Fred and George have always had a...flexible sense of right and wrong when it comes to following rules and laws. Their hearts are in the right place, but they just don't put much stock in going 'by the book.' You'd need hundreds of galleons just for the initial rent payment for a store front in Diagon Alley, not to mention enough to build an inventory...I just don't know how they would get that much, legitimately."

He suddenly folded the letter, stuffing it hastily in his pocket, the tips of his ears red again. Despite working for a bank, Bill seemed sensitive about money, at least when it came to his family.

"It's not shameful, not having money," Fleur said quietly, moving to take his hand.

"I know." Bill sighed, sinking onto the sofa. Fleur sat down beside him.

"It's just...I shouldn't have to worry about where they got the money, but I do. I doubt even my own family, because of money. When Percy -" he stopped suddenly, and after a moment the expression of vexation on his face faded.

There he went again, closing up, shutting her out.

"What 'appened, with Percy?" she asked tentatively.

Bill frowned, looking out the window, and didn't answer right away, but he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb as he thought.

"Percy was always very ambitious," he said at last. "I think it bothered him that we were poor, more than the rest of us. Maybe he thought of it as a sign of failure; he always worked really hard at everything, did really well in school, got a job at the ministry. Last summer, he and my Dad had a fight, and he blamed Dad for us never having much money, said he wasn't ambitious or successful, and moved out. None of us has heard from him since."

Fleur didn't know what to say. She couldn't imagine fighting with her parents bitterly enough to leave and not speak to them again.

"I'm sorry, Bill. It must 'ave been very difficult for all of your family."

Bill nodded.

"I think Mum took it the hardest. She was always so proud of Percy; he didn't grow his hair long, or move to Romania, or blow things up and play pranks on people all day long like the twins."

"I like your hair long," Fleur commented, reaching up to twine a lock around her finger. Bill smiled.

"I'm glad you do. Mum says it's silly."

"Do you think your brother will come back?"

"I think so. He may be mad, but he was always pretty sensible; I think he'll come to his senses eventually."

"What about your other brothers, ze ones who want to start a joke shop?"

Bill pulled the letter back out of his pocket, looking over it again.

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to look around a bit. I think there's a couple of empty shops in Diagon Alley, I'll ask about them tomorrow. "

* * *

As it turned out, there were several vacant shops in Diagon Alley; number 27, number 61, and number 93 all looked like they might be suitable. As Bill expected, however, they were all fairly expensive. Nonetheless, he scheduled an appointment to look at all of them.

"They all have similar lease terms," the properties consultant at Gringotts told him the next week, as they stood just inside the doorway of number 93, which was the largest and had the most visibility. "First three months rent at least must be paid in advance on signing. That would be," he consulted his clipboard, "five hundred eighty for number twenty seven, four hundred twenty for number sixty one, and seven hundred ninety for this one, number ninety three."

He held out his clipboard for Bill's inspection, and he looked over the numbers.

"Do you have a floor plan for each of them?"

The consultant nodded, opening his briefcase and pulling out several sheets of parchment. With a tap of his wand, he duplicated each one, handing the copies to Bill.

"You can keep those. Look them over, then let me know which one will be most suitable for you."

Bill sent the floor plans by owl to Fred and George, along with a brief description of each one and its location in Diagon Alley, as well as the rates for rent. He had no idea how the twins could possibly afford any of them, but figured there was no harm in playing along.

He was shocked, to say the least, by their reply a few days later.

_Bill, _

_Thanks so much for doing the legwork. Number 93 looks the best, we'll take it. You can take the gold for the first three months rent out of our vault, number 385. Don't bother sending the deed to Hogwarts, we'll come and collect it soon enough. See you soon!_

_Gred and Forge._

The back of the letter had an officially formatted permission note:

_We, Fred and George Weasley, do hereby permit and authorize our brother, William Arthur Weasley, to withdraw funds from our vault, number three hundred eighty five, at Gringotts Wizarding Bank, of a sum up to the total balance of the account, for the purpose of purchasing a store front in our name for a future business endeavor._

Bill stared at the brief letter in disbelief. They had a Gringotts vault that he didn't even know about, which apparently contained at least eight hundred Galleons. And what exactly did they mean, 'we'll come and collect it soon'?

At work the next day, he went to check the vault, half expecting to find it empty, or belonging to someone else. But sure enough, vault 385 was registered to Misters Weasley and Weasley, and had a balance of one thousand, two hundred eighty seven galleons, nine sickles, and fifteen knuts.

Bill contacted the properties consultant again, and made the first lease payment as per the twins request, but he still had no idea how the twins had saved up so much money. When they arrived, they were going to have a lot of questions to answer.


	17. Sunshine and Clouds

Author's Note: Sorry to keep you all waiting. It's finals week for me, and I've had papers to write and loads of studying. I probably won't be able to update quite as often for a bit, but don't worry - I haven't abandoned it.

-S.

* * *

Fleur didn't work on Mondays, but she was up fairly early anyway on the morning of April twenty seventh. She showered and fixed a bowl of oatmeal, and didn't feel any older than yesterday. By nine o'clock she was dressed comfortably, and was just thinking of writing a letter home when she was surprised by a knock at the door; outside stood Bill, holding a single white rose.

"Happy birthday."

"Bill! I thought you were coming over zis evening?"

Bill flashed her a cheeky grin.

"I said I'd see you tomorrow, not I'd see you tomorrow night."

Fleur stepped back, letting him in. He leaned in to greet her with a kiss as he stepped over the threshold, offering her the rose. She lifted it to her face, inhaling the sweet scent.

"But what about work?"

"I took the day off. It is a special occasion, after all. You only turn fifteen once."

"Nineteen." Fleur tried to look annoyed, but couldn't help smiling. She found a slender vase in the cupboard next to her sink, and filled it with water.

"Ready to go?" Bill was still standing by the door, his shoes on, looking at her expectantly.

"Go where?" She placed her flower in the vase, setting it on the window sill.

Bill grinned again.

"Exploring."

"Exploring where?" she laughed.

Bill shrugged. "If I knew that, it wouldn't be exploring, would it?"

Bemused, Fleur slipped on her shoes, following Bill outside. Taking her hand, he led the way down Diagon Alley, and out into Muggle London.

Despite his claims not to know in advance where they were going, Fleur suspected that Bill had at least a general plan for the day. They went into St. Paul's cathedral, which she had only ever seen pictures of, and wandered through the grounds of the Tower of London.

Bill gestured up at the keep.

"The White Tower was built by the Normans in the late eleventh century - the outer walls were gradually added over the next few hundred years. The lawn around the outer wall would have been a moat filled with water to make it difficult to approach, in case of attack."

Bill's off-the-top-of-his-head knowledge was rather surprising. She looked at him curiously.

" 'Ow do you know so much about muggle 'istory?"

He shrugged.

"Curse breakers have to learn a lot of history. Most magical schools only teach wizarding history, but they leave out a lot of important details about what Muggles were doing at the time. In fact, the history of wizards and muggles was much more closely related than most people think. Wizarding architects have made use of many muggle-built structures, and sometimes cooperated openly with muggles - take Egypt, for example. There was actually a small community of wizards who lived openly in ancient Egypt; Pharoh even had court 'magicians.' Of course, wandlore was relatively primitive at the time, so they couldn't use magic in a lot of the ways we do now. But I think they had a better understanding of magical essence and foundations than we do; most people now know just enough magical theory to get by, but they don't understand the principles behind what they're doing - they just memorize the spells they need. That's part of why Egyptian curses cast thousands of years ago are still hard to break today."

Fleur stared at Bill in amazement. She knew that he'd done very well in school, that he'd been a prefect and head boy and gotten top marks in all of his exams, but she'd never really been able to picture him as a short-haired schoolboy, poring over books. He just didn't come across as the intellectual type. As he talked about ancient history and magical theory, though, she could see the motivated student showing through the handsome, debonair, and somewhat rakish exterior. It was yet another side to him, that he'd hardly even hinted at since she'd met him.

"What? You're staring again."

"It's just, I never pictured you as such ze intellectuelle," she answered, smiling.

"Oh. Sorry, let me resume my aloof, bad-boy image." Bill rearranged his expression into an enigmatic stare, setting his jaw, narrowing his eyes and gazing into the distance. With his hips cocked slightly, his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and his shoulders back, he looked like a fashion model. Fleur noticed several passing women eying him appreciatively, and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a passionate kiss.

She laughed quietly at the surprised expression on his face as she released him.

"What was that for?"

"Apparently, I cannot resist your charms."

They crossed the Tower Bridge, and ate lunch in a small cafe that by the river, then spent the afternoon wandering back along the broad footpath that followed the river. They paused in one of the little parks that dotted the riverside, and Fleur looked back across the water towards the White Tower, thinking once again of the remarkable chances that had brought her here.

"What will you do after your job with Gringotts?" Bill's voice interrupted her reverie.

"After my job?"

"You can't tell me you plan on working part time as a banking assistant forever."

Fleur sighed.

"I don't know, exactly. When I was in school I was always very ambitious; I thought I might work for ze French ministry of magic, maybe in international relations. But I'm not sure zat was ever what I really wanted."

"What do you mean?"

Fleur paused, considering.

"When I was younger, I did not really 'ave a dream for ze future. I worked 'ard in school, everyone told me I 'ad such a bright future ahead of me. When people asked me what I planned to do after school, I said zat I would work for ze ministry, because it sounded ambitious and impressive. But zat just made it worse..." she trailed off.

Bill took her hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

"Ever since I was little, people always noticed me, commented on 'ow I look. Zey said, 'look, zat is Fleur Delacour, look 'ow perfect she is.' Zey would say 'she is so clever, she is so beautiful, she will succeed in whatever she does.' But I'm not perfect. Vraiment, I'm just a normal girl, but everyone expected zat whatever I did, I would do it perfectly, so I had to try to be perfect.

But I was never 'appy. I was popular, I suppose, but I never 'ad good friends. Everyone wanted to be around perfect Fleur, because she is beautiful and intelligent and does well in everything, but no-one wanted to talk to imperfect, frightened, lonely Fleur, who 'as to try so 'ard to make it look as though she does not 'ave to try, who only cries at night after everyone else is asleep so zat no-one will see her."

She felt Bill's touch on her back and turned into him, craving the comfort of his arms. He was only one she had ever told this too, the only one who held her like this since her father comforted her as a child. Away at school for most of the year since she was eleven, she'd had no-one. Whether from that residual pain, or the thankfulness for finally having Bill, she felt tears well up behind her eyes.

"Hey, no crying on your birthday." Bill's voice was soft and reassuring, and Fleur managed a watery smile, wiping her eyes. After a little while, she went on, looping her arm through Bill's as they kept walking.

"When Madame Maxime told us about ze triwizard tournament, I knew zat everyone expected me to volunteer, zat zey would be expecting me to compete, to win, because Fleur is perfect and she always does ze best. I was afraid zat ze Goblet of Fire would not choose me, but part of me 'oped zat I would not be chosen - but I was, just like always.

"Being chosen, I felt like I 'ad to win. I think Viktor felt ze same way; 'e was a famous quiddich player, everyone from 'is school expected 'im to win, just like everyone at Beauxbatons expected I would win. But after ze tournament, after..." she paused, then finished her sentence in a whisper, "after Cedric died...it seemed so stupid. We 'ad been trying so 'ard to win, but what is a trophy, a bag of gold, compared to a life?"

Bill put his arm around her shoulders, and they walked in silence for a little while. At London Bridge they had to leave the riverside, meandering through narrow streets and little cobblestone alleys lined with shops and restaurants. A brick-walled alley turned into a short tunnel underneath a muggle railroad bridge, but when they emerged back into the warm sunlight, they were by the river once again.

The towering dome of St. Paul's cathedral stood out over the skyline as they walked along the Thames path, lingering in the open grassy space of Jubilee Gardens as the afternoon faded. Fleur's earlier suspicions were confirmed when it turned out that Bill mysteriously had reservations at a very romantic restaurant by Westminster Bridge, looking across the river at Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament.

"Is zis 'ow English explorers usually eat?" she teased, as the waiter laid delicious looking entrees before them. Bill considered for a moment.

"Generally, yes. Except Captain Scott, of course."

"Who is Captain Scott?"

"Muggle explorer, tried to reach the south pole. Died of starvation and cold in Antarctica." He grimaced. "But he was doing it wrong, obviously, otherwise he would have eaten in a fancy restaurant along the way."

"I think I like your way better," Fleur laughed. "Exploring seems much more enjoyable when you don't get too far from civilization."

Gradually the evening sun sank over the horizon, reflected brilliantly in the still water of the Thames. Bill and Fleur walked back across the Westminster Bridge in the fading twilight, the clouds still tinged with pink as the city lights turned on.

It was nearly dark by the time they got back to Bill's flat near Diagon Alley.

"Come in for a bit?" he asked.

Fleur nodded, shivering a little; now the sun was gone, she felt suddenly colder. Bill opened the door, letting her in first before following and closing the door behind them.

"Was it a good birthday?"

"Ze best," she answered, pulling him close and capturing his lips with hers. They moved into the sitting room, finding a comfortable seat on Bill's sofa. As they kissed, Fleur pressed against Bill's chest until he was lying on his back, his head propped up on a cushion. She slid her leg over his hips so that she rested on top of him and let her hands find their way under his shirt, as his ran over her back and sides. She was just contemplating taking his shirt off entirely when there came a sudden, loud Crack.

Fleur looked up; two identical, red-headed boys were standing in the middle of Bill's sitting room, both holding brooms and looking slightly windswept, and very surprised.

The one on the left spoke first.

"So, er...I take it the English lessons are going well, then?"

She felt Bill shift under her and slid off of him as he sat up.

"I knew I should have left the apparition wards up," he muttered.

"That's no way to greet your favorite brothers," the second twin spoke up. "What happens if you try to apparate into a warded area, anyway?"

Bill scowled.

"It's kind of like running headlong into a brick wall. What are you two doing here? Shouldn't you be at school?"

"Well, actually, what with Umbridge as headmistress, and only exams to look forward to, George and I decided it was about time to leave our formal education behind," answered the first twin.

"We only really stuck around as long as we did for market research anyway," added the second."

Bill sighed.

"I know it's pointless to argue with you two, so I'm not going to bother. But you could have at least knocked."

"Our apologies. But aren't you going to introduce us?"

Bill shook his head, but stood up, running his hand through his hair.

"Right. Fleur, these are my highly annoying twin brothers, Fred" he indicated the one on the left, "and George," he pointed to the one on the right.

"No, _he's_ George, I'm Fred."

"Shut up, George. Twins, I'm sure you remember Fleur Delacour?"

Fleur tried to straighten her hair, suddenly aware that her appearance must look nothing less than thoroughly kissed, but immediately realized there was no point in pretending otherwise and gave up.

"Enchanté," said the twin Bill had called George, taking her hand with a comical little bow. The other one, Fred, imitated his brother exactly, and she couldn't help but smile at them.

"So why exactly are you here?" Bill asked again.

"Why, to pick up our deed, of course," said Fred.

"And it couldn't wait until morning because...?"

"Why put off until tomorrow what can be done today?" answered George.

Bill sighed, disappearing into his bedroom and reappearing a moment later with a piece of folded parchment.

"Here you are." He held it to out to Fred. "And I don't want to see or hear from you again until at least ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

The twins grinned, and disappeared with another loud Crack. Bill sank back down on the sofa, shaking his head.

"Those two..."

Fleur laughed.

"Zey are quite _charmant_, your brothers."

"You say that now. If you ever had to live with them, you'd change your mind."

"Per'aps. Zey are not as charming as you are, though."

Bill smiled.

"Not as handsome either."

"Non, not as 'andsome," Fleur agreed, taking a seat herself in Bill's lap. "Now, where were we?"

Bill returned her kisses, but it seemed that once again the interruption had somehow reminded him to put his walls back up. His touch was a little less fervent, and he said goodnight sooner than she might have wished; indeed, a part of her had hoped that tonight he might not say goodnight at all. But he did, sometime after ten, leaving her with a final, tender kiss, and the wish that she understood why.

* * *

Although he had gotten Monday off with little trouble, Bill did have to go into work on Tuesday. Antonio seemed uncharacteristically agitated, and delivered a large pile of work onto Bill's desk for his analysis.

"What's up with all this?" Bill asked, sifting through the stacks of parchment. It consisted of new vault plans, new spell patterns, new security protocols for revision. "Was there a robbery or something?"

Antonio shook his head.

"Not that I know of."

"Well then why are they proposing all these changes? It looks like they want to redesign the security for the whole bank!"

Antonio glanced up and down the hall quickly, then stepped into Bill's office, shutting the door behind him.

"I don't know anything for sure, but I've heard whispers of rumors in the Goblin Nation."

Bill raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Whispers of rumors? That doesn't sound like a reliable basis for completely redesigning everything."

Benelli shook his head again. "It wasn't my idea - most of these came from the goblins themselves. No-one is saying anything, not that the goblins usually say much, but they've been suddenly more paranoid than usual. And look at the security measures that are the most changed; they're in areas that the Ministry of Magic is most involved, like the Treasury, and magical artifacts held by Gringotts."

Bill frowned as he leafed through the proposals. Antonio was right, they seemed to be focussed around aspects of security that the ministry had more access too, though there were certainly a lot of other changes there as well.

"But why...?"

His boss shrugged. "I don't know, but I don't like it. Whenever the goblins are plotting, it usually is for their own advancement, and it rarely bodes well for humans." He turned and left Bill's office, leaving him sitting behind the pile of parchment on his desk, wondering what it might mean.

After lunch, Bill was walking past the accounting offices when he saw Ragnok, one of the chief goblins at Gringotts, with whom he had been steadily developing a rapport. He casually wandered into the office, and when no one was close by, approached the goblin at his desk.

"Ragnok."

The goblin looked up and scowled, his already ugly face even less inviting than usual. "What do you want, Weasley?"

Bill sat down in one of the chairs in front of Ragnok's desk, leaning close.

"Up in security, there's a lot of questions right now, and I'm guessing you have an idea why."

Ragnok glared at him, his black eyes betraying nothing.

"Why would you think that?"

Bill didn't answer, but glared back, meeting the goblin's gaze unflinchingly. Weakness of mind was a trait the Goblins attributed to 'lesser' species; they would use their cunning to distract them and lead them astray. By refusing to acknowledge Ragnok's evasive response, he was asserting himself as an equal, demanding a straight answer.

For nearly half a minute, they glared at one another in silence. At last Ragnok spoke, quietly.

"I cannot and will not say much. But suffice to say, there is some...concern about ministry policy, which has not been alleviated by its enmity with, and the disappearance of, Albus Dumbledore, who has always advocated for the rights of all magical creatures. The Goblin Nation is also not convinced of the...stability of the current regime. Let us say that, if there were a change in power at the Ministry of Magic, we would wish to be secure in maintaining our important place in the magical world, and the wizarding economy."

Ragnok said no more, and knowing it would be futile to press him further, Bill did not ask for more information. Perhaps he could plant a further seed for the Order, though.

"You know there are some wizards who would support the Goblin -" But Ragnok cut him off.

"I have been around wizards for longer than you have been alive, William Weasley. I know what they are, what they amount to, and what they can be trusted with. I have nothing more to say."

The goblin turned back to his work, and Bill left the accounting offices, unsettled by what he had heard. Though Ragnok spoke in veiled conditionals, Bill had spent enough time with goblins to learn to read between the lines of everything they said.

They knew something, that was for certain. And they knew more than the Order, which, with no new information or signs from Voldemort, had been largely inactive for the past month. He thought back to his conversation with Snape over the summer; Voldemort had been planning on contacting the goblins, seeking their aid in his rise to power.

The pieces began to fall into place. An emissary had been sent from among the Death Eaters to make covert contact with the Goblin Nation. As Bill had suspected, the goblins were probably no more willing to fight for Voldemort than for the Order; if they fought, it would be only for themselves. But whatever they had learned from the Death Eaters, it apparently was sufficient that the goblins expected the ministry to fall. The changes in security were designed to make sure that the goblins still retained their power, that Voldemort could not double cross or destroy them without losing control of the wealth and economic power they wielded.

Bill was troubled as he left work. It seemed that Voldemort was indeed planning his next move, and from what the Goblins suspected, it was going to be a bold one. His recent time with Fleur had been like a gift from another life, a life untouched by war and unsullied by the growing threat of death. But that life, it seemed, was one that could not last; their weeks of apparent peace were but the calm before the storm, and the clouds were now gathering on the horizon.


	18. Will He?

A few days after the twins' sudden appearance at his flat, Bill stopped by number ninety three, Diagon Alley, instead of heading straight home after work. To his surprise, he found the windows covered with black cloth from the inside, and the door locked. A large, painfully orange sign hung above the door, proclaiming:

WEASLEY'S WIZARD WHEEZES

STUPENDOUS JOKES, GIFTS, PRANKS, AND MAGIC!

GRAND OPENING MAY 10!

He knocked loudly, and pressed his ear to the door. A series of thumps, some muffled swearing, and then quick footsteps announced the approach of someone from inside.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, Bill."

The door opened, revealing a rather dusty red-headed figure.

"Hello, Bill. What can we do for you?"

"Fred. What are two doing in there?" Bill looked past his brother, into the inside of the once empty building. Tall shelves had been erected, with brightly wrapped packages filling many of them. Fred grinned broadly.

"Come and see. Oi! George! It's Bill!"

George's voice came from a further back in the building, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Brilliant. Now will you come help me with these boxes?"

Bill followed his brother through the shop. The decorating was not quite finished; one wall was only half painted, and many shelves were still bare, but it was clearly well on its way towards opening. Fred led the way down a short corridor and into another room, which was full of boxes.

"This is the storeroom," he gestured to the piles of crates. "We've been building up our stock for the grand opening next week; this is where we keep everything before it goes out onto the shelves. We've got more stuff at home, in our old bedroom."

George was in the far corner, trying to balance a tall stack of boxes that wobbled precariously.

"A little help here would be nice."

Bill drew his wand, stabilizing the leaning tower and moving it into the corner so it was supported by the wall.

"Thanks Bill. Right handy you are; Fred and I can never seem get those spells right. Always end up knocking them over or sending them flying across the room instead of moving them."

"Too true," Fred agreed. "Say, Bill, do you want a job? According to our budgeting predictions, we could pay you five knuts an hour to be our stock boy."

Bill laughed.

"Wow, I'm honored. I don't know if I'm ready for such riches yet though - I think I'll stick to working at the bank."

The twins made an unconvincing attempt looked offended.

"You know, Fred, I think Bill's getting a bit big for his boots. Thinks he's too good for us, with his fancy job at Gringotts."

"I know what you mean" Fred agreed, "zough I 'ave to admeet, 'ees job does 'ave certain perks zat ours ees conspicuously lacking."

Bill rolled his eyes at Fred's obnoxious fake French accent.

"So, things are going well with the veela girlfriend?"

"She's only part veela."

"You could have fooled me. Can she still shape-shift and throw fireballs when she gets mad?"

Bill ignored George's question; he had several queries of his own for the twins.

"So where, exactly, did you get all the money for this? You can't tell me you made twelve hundred galleons selling your inventions by owl order."

The twins looked slightly uncomfortable, and Bill frowned. "You didn't do anything illegal, did you?"

"No, nothing illegal," George said at once.

"Well then?"

The twins exchanged glances. Bill raised his eyebrows, looking between them expectantly.

"We er..." began Fred.

"Had a very generous benefactor," finished George. "He gave us a, er, startup loan at the end of last year."

Bill folded his arms across his chest. "Come on guys, spill it."

For a long minute, they didn't say anything, looking between Bill and one another. At last they seemed to come to an unspoken agreement. Fred spoke first.

"It was Harry."

"Harry? Harry Potter?"

"He gave us his prize money from the triwizard tournament last year," said George.

"Why?"

"He said he didn't want it, and we should use it for our joke shop. Wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Really?" Bill was amazed. Harry had always been polite and thoughtful, but just giving away a thousand galleons? The twins nodded.

"But...if he gave it to you last year, why drop out of school now?"

"We were doing market research, of course," said Fred. "Figuring out what our future customers wanted best, developing different lines of products, testing them, refining our manufacturing methods."

"We were originally planning on staying to finish seventh year," went on George, "But after Dumbledore left and Umbridge became headmistress, we mostly stuck around just to cause trouble. We set off a bunch of fireworks all over the school -"

"- Our own invention, nearly impossible to get rid of unless you know how," interjected Fred,

" - and turned one of the second floor corridors into a swamp," George continued.

"Of course, after that the game was up; Umbridge wanted to have us whipped. So we summoned our brooms, and flew out of the main entrance and off the grounds, where we could apparate to your place," Fred finished proudly.

While the remnants of the rule-abiding Head Boy in him was slightly scandalized, Bill couldn't help but be rather impressed. He left Fred and George's shop with a new respect for their daring, as well as for Harry Potter's generosity.

* * *

Fleur had only been at work for about an hour when a goblin barged into her office. They never knocked, just walked in whenever they felt like it, as if they owned the place. Well, technically they did own the place, but still - they could at least be polite about it. She hastily rearranged her expression from one of annoyance and disapproval into attentive acquiescence.

"Miss Delacour."

Fleur didn't recognize the goblin; he was slightly taller than usual, and had a deep, gravelly voice. She nodded.

"I am here to discuss your position here at Gringotts Bank."

She felt a sudden twinge of anxiety. Had she done something wrong? She thought back over the last few weeks. She couldn't think of anything, certainly nothing major enough to get her fired.

"Your contract with Gringotts was, as usual, for a thirteen month employment. As you are no doubt aware, it will expire in exactly thirty days time. Your superior has expressed satisfaction with your performance during the course of your year here, and has recommended you for renewal." The goblin held out a large sheet of parchment. "This is your contract for the next thirteen months, if you choose to accept it."

It took Fleur a moment to process the information that she had not, in fact, lost her job, and simply had to renew it. She shook her head; sometimes it seemed the goblins took pleasure in making their human employees squirm. Taking the contract, she looked over it briefly; most of it seemed the same as the first one she had signed upon her arrival in England, though one thing was different.

"Zis only says two days a week."

The Goblin's face was impassive. "Those are the new terms of the contract."

"Why?"

"Gringotts bank is making some revisions for improved efficiency in the future. There may be a slight change in your position to reflect those revisions."

She checked the compensation section of the form; her hourly rate was actually increased, if very slightly, but her hours would be reduced by a third. Could she keep her flat on only two-thirds her current income? It would certainly be much more difficult. Of course, she could write home and ask for help, but she'd done everything on her own since she arrived in England, and liked the feeling of self-sufficiency and accomplishment that gave her.

'I'll make it work,' she said to herself, and signed the form.

But how would she make it work, she wondered over the next few days. She pulled out the folder she kept in the bottom drawer of her desk, sitting down on her bed and looking over her neatly kept financial records. Between the flat, food, and miscellaneous expenses, she used up most of her modest paycheck. Honestly, it was hard to see how she could keep living this way only working two days a week. She had to eat, after all.

She thought of Bill; If she asked him, told him that she needed a place to stay, she was sure he would let her stay with him. He'd almost certainly insist that she took the bedroom, and sleep on the sofa himself. But as much appeal as moving in with Bill had, she didn't want it to be like that; a temporary arrangement, where he shared living space with her out of necessity. Fleur lay back on her own bed, remembering the one morning she had woken up with him beside her.

If she moved in with Bill, she didn't want him to sleep on the sofa; she wanted him to be with her, to hold her, as she fell asleep in his arms. She wanted to live with him becausehe wanted to share a life together as much as she did, because, like her, he spent all their time apart wishing they were together. She wanted it to be because he wanted her, to have and to hold, for the rest of their lives.

But Bill didn't seem to want that. He wouldn't even stay the night with her; he always left or took her home, usually before midnight. What did he want? When they were together, it seemed unquestionable that he loved her. But then he would disappear, or close off, and leave her with no clues as to what was going on beneath the surface.

And she still didn't know exactly what he was involved in that was so dangerous. Fleur thought back to his curious behavior in early April, when he showed up in front of her door looking so distraught; it was the same day the Prophet reported Albus Dumbledore's arrest. Were the two related? And his frightening disappearance in January was close to the time of the Death Eaters' escape from Azkaban. If he had known about the escape...that would explain his paranoia about her safety. But even if he was somehow involved in both of those, it still left so many unanswered questions, and it didn't explain his emotional distance from her, or tell her what he wanted for their future.

* * *

The Order of the Phoenix was gathered together again in early June. Dumbledore was present to preside over the meeting for the first time since his dramatic departure from Hogwarts two months prior. He brought little fresh news on Death Eater activity, but his suspicions conformed to what Bill had heard and guessed from his conversation with Ragnok. As for what he had been doing, he would give no hint, save that 'all would be made clear when the time was right.' Yet despite unanimous agreement that Voldemort was preparing for a decisive move, they still had frustratingly little information on which to actually base a plan of action. By the end of the meeting, they had resolved no more than to be extra-vigilant, and pay careful attention to any suspicious activity at the ministry.

As the Order dispersed, Tonks approached Bill. She looked pensive and anxious, and her hair was a mousy shade of brown instead of her customary bubblegum pink.

"Bill," she asked quietly, "could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure. What's up?"

She hesitated, waiting until most of the Order had left. "It's just...it's about Remus. I think he talks to you as much as anyone, and..." she trailed off.

"How about a cup of tea?" Bill asked. Tonks nodded, following him into the kitchen. He prodded the kettle with his wand, and reached for the tea strainer as it whistled shrilly. Pouring two steaming mugs, he brought them over to the kitchen table, where he sat down across from Tonks.

"We've been...sort of seeing each other for a little while now," she started. "I mean...actually I'm not really sure what I mean. Sometimes everything seems great, which lasts for about five minutes, before he gets all grumpy and starts telling me how dangerous he is, how foolish it is for us to be together, how he's too old for me."

Bill nodded. Tonks suddenly set her teacup down, rather harder than necessary, so that tea spilled over the table.

"God, listen to me. I sound like a thirteen year old girl." Her hair turned slightly red from the roots out. "What's his problem, anyway? You'd think a guy wouldn't mind a little action now and again."

Bill choked on his tea.

"Well, that was officially more than I wanted to hear."

"What? It's the truth. I want him, I love him, he's more than good enough for me, and frankly sometimes a girl just wants a good -"

"Okay, I get the idea." Bill sighed. "Look, I know Remus really cares about you. He worries about you all the time - believe me, I've been stuck with him out in the middle of nowhere when he obsesses over how dangerous it is for you."

Tonks rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, I get it, it's dangerous. You have no idea how often I've heard that line."

"I know, but the point is, he only worries about you so much because he cares about you so much. You have to understand, his whole life he's been an outcast; it's practically impossible for him to get a job, he's universally despised by everyone who finds out what he is. He can't help but have some real insecurities about his own self worth. And more than that, he doesn't want you to have to go through any of the humiliation and isolation he's had to endure."

Tonks took another sip of her tea, apparently thinking over what he had just said.

"You have a girlfriend, don't you?" her question caught Bill a little off-guard.

"Er, yeah, I suppose."

"What does she think, about you being in the Order and all."

"Umm...," he answered, suddenly feeling that the conversation had shifted in an uncomfortable direction.

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'Umm'?"

"I, er...haven't really talked about it much."

"You mean you haven't told her? God! You're as bad as Remus! What the bloody hell is wrong with you men?"

Bill felt this was going a little far.

"The situation's totally different. You're an Auror, and a member of the Order, you know what you're getting into, you made the choice knowing full well what it could mean. But Fleur...she's only just finished school, she's just starting her life, and I'm supposed to drag her into the middle of a war?"

"Don't you think she'd want to know the truth?"

"The truth? The truth is, there's a pretty good chance I won't even be alive in a year or two, maybe less. I can't put her in that kind of risk. If she was hurt, if she was killed, because of me -" He broke off, the nightmare image of Fleur, limp in his arms, forcing its way back to the surface. "I'm not worth that," he finished, quietly.

Tonks looked at him for a long moment. "You love her," she said at last. It wasn't a question. Bill nodded slowly. "Have you told her that?"

He shook his head.

"I...I don't want to burden her with that, not until I can follow through. Maybe after the war, if I'm still..."

"You should tell her."

Bill hesitated; he wanted to, but his hopes were overladen by his fears.

"I will," he said at last.

"Will Remus?" The uncertainty was back, and she rolled her nearly empty teacup between her hands.

"He will, too." Bill had spent enough time with the werewolf to know that he loved Tonks no less than she loved him, despite her frustration with his way of showing it. "He may take a little while, but he will."

She smiled weakly. "Thanks Bill."


	19. The Storm Breaks

June crept on, with still no sign from Voldemort. The days were fine and clear, the nights calm, and Fred and George had opened their joke shop to great success. But Bill still couldn't help feeling that at any moment, the peaceful illusion would be shattered. The fact that the order still had practically no information to go on, and that Dumbledore had been mostly absent and always very secretive, only served to increase his unease. He often lay awake for hours in the warm summer nights, trying to guess at what the Death Eaters' next move would be, planning responses for the order. This was almost always accompanied by worries about Fleur. He considered trying to convince her to go back to France; Voldemort's efforts were largely concentrated in England, and she would be much safer in Europe, away from the war and the Order of the Phoenix.

But he couldn't bring himself to ask her to leave. She wouldn't really understand - how could she, without knowing about the Order? And he didn't think she'd go anyway, even if he asked her to. He thought of the way she pressed herself against him and reached under his shirt, the hunger and passion in her kisses, how she seemed to want to be with him every moment. Sometimes her attachment to him was a little frightening - what would she do if he was killed? It made Bill feel a little guilty; in some ways, it almost felt like he was leading her on, letting her believe that they could have a happily-ever-after together, when the reality was likely to be much grimmer, and far more painful.

On the afternoon of June eighteenth, Bill was working his way steadily through the large stack of alteration proposals on his desk. A little after three o'clock, a silver weasel suddenly materialized through the wall of his office. He stood up as it spoke in his father's voice, it's message brief and to the point.

"Return to headquarters as soon as possible."

Hastily folding the plans, he locked them in the bottom drawer of his desk, grabbed his coat, and apparated directly to Grimmauld Place.

He arrived to find the kitchen of the House of Black already bustling with order members. Kingsley, Remus, Tonks, and Mad-eye had come to join his parents and Sirius. Hagrid was there too, looking somewhat worse for wear. He hurried to join Remus and Kingsley.

"What's going on?"

"The Death Eaters are moving," Kingsley answered.

"And the Ministry tried to have Hagrid arrested yesterday, on grounds of conspiring with Dumbledore," Remus added, his voice tense.

His father joined them.

"Bill, I'm glad you're here. Kingsley, Remus, I just got word from St. Mungo's, Minerva's going to be fine."

"Wait, what? McGonagall?"

"Umbridge and some of the Ministry aurors attacked her while they were trying to arrest Hagrid," Remus answered shortly.

"And she's in St. Mungo's?"

"They brought her there this morning," said his father. "Apparently four people stunned her at the same time, with no warning."

Kingsley suddenly spoke loudly, his deep voice booming over the hubbub of the Order.

"Alright, everyone's here. There have been a string of attacks in northern England, in two different areas." He unfurled a map on the table, pointing to two points; one in Yorkshire, another in Northumberland. "This may provide the break we've been waiting for: hopefully we'll be able to pin down where Voldemort is operating from. Remus, Tonks, and Alastor will go with me to Yorkshire; Bill, Arthur, and Hagrid to Northumberland."

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but Kingsley cut him off. "Sirius, we need you here. We can't afford you being seen with us, and we may need a presence here in London. I can't be sure exactly what the Death Eaters are planning, but I suspect it is more than we know."

Sirius closed his mouth and retreated, looking bitter, but there was no time for consolations. Remus, Tonks, and Mad-Eye were already disapparating, and Kingsley soon followed. Bill and Arthur both grabbed hold of Hagrid, and together apparated to the spot in the middle of nowhere, just south of the Scottish border.

The traces of dark magic were unmistakeable on the moment of their arrival. There was a little village just over a hill from where they appeared, but the trail of magic led north, away from civilization.

Bill drew his wand, probing, searching for further clues. Unforgivable curses especially left a strong magical residue behind, and it seemed that the little valley they had appeared in had seen use of several. He shuddered; someone, possible several people, had mostly likely been tortured and killed here. Yet there were no bodies. He began to walk north, following the winding valley floor. The remnants dark magic grew stronger as he walked, following his wand, Arthur and Hagrid close behind.

"How did Kingsley pinpoint this spot?" he asked as they walked. His father answered.

"We had a spy in the area, in a nearby village. Word came that several of the muggles who lived here had disappeared, and one was found dead on the hillside this morning, with no visible cause of death."

"Why'd they attack here?" Hagrid asked gruffly. "Not a particularly interestin' or importan' place, is it?"

Arthur didn't answer. Bill thought Hagrid had a point, and it troubled him a little. Why would they attack here? It seemed like a typical Death Eater muggle-killing, but that seemed a strange way for Voldemort to tip his hand, especially after being so secretive for the last few months. He began to get a strange feeling in his gut, that there was just something wrong with the situation.

* * *

As she often did, Fleur dropped by Bill's office on her way out of Gringotts, a little after five, but was surprised to find it empty. She went down the hall to Monsieur Benelli's office; he was just tidying up his desk.

"Mister Benelli; 'as Bill already left? I did not see 'im in 'is office."

He looked up.

"Oh, hello Fleur. Yes, he went home early, I think he left around three."

She thanked him and left, somewhat confused. Bill, leaving work early? And without telling her, without saying anything? Instead of going home, she made her way to Bill's flat, and knocked on the door. There was no response. She knocked again, louder, and called out, "Bill, are you there?" but again, there was no answer. He wasn't home.

Of course, Bill often had to be away, sometimes for days at a time, but he usually told her, let her know how long he was going to be gone and when she could expect him back. The fact that he had simply disappeared without notice was a little unsettling.

She wandered slowly back to her own flat, lost in the memories of Bill's touch, wishing he was there to reassure her now. He was so real and solid and wonderful when they were together, but sometimes it felt as though he could vanish at any moment; like he might just evaporate, and turn out to have been nothing but a figment of her imagination.

She was restless that evening after she got home, unable to settle into anything. She fixed a small dinner, and worried over where Bill was, why he hadn't told her where he was going. She worried about what she was going to do in just a couple of weeks, when her contract changed over, and she would have to figure out how to make ends meet only working two days a week. And as she prepared for bed that night, she wondered again about her future with Bill, and whether he loved her. The doubts that seemed silly and absurd whenever he was there grew again in his absence, and she paced her sitting room floor uneasily.

She sat down at her desk, looking over a letter from Gabrielle. Her sister was nine now, and clearly missed her terribly. Fleur felt a little guilty; she loved her sister deeply, but had been so distracted by her new relationship with Bill that she hadn't written back yet. She pulled out a fresh piece of parchment to begin a reply, but put it down after half a paragraph, unable to concentrate. Digging out her finances once again, she made little calculations and estimates, but in her distracted state they got her nowhere. And when she tried to go to bed she found herself unable to sleep, wondering where Bill was, and wishing he was there beside her.

* * *

Bill, Arthur, and Hagrid followed the trail of Dark Magic through the winding dales of Northumberland. Although the signs were strong, Bill's sense of unease grew. The magical residue was clear and obvious, then suddenly disappeared, only to reappear nearby, and he couldn't figure out what the Death Eaters might have been doing. There were also no bodies, no clear evidence for why they would have been here, and no sense that they were getting closer to some important location.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" he asked finally, as the light faded into dusk.

"What do you mean?" His father frowned. "We apparated to the right place, and we've found traces of dark magic all over."

"I know, it just...seems wrong, that's all. It feels like we're in the wrong place..." He trailed off; the feeling was familiar, but for a minute he couldn't quite place it. "In the tombs, especially the ones with a really valuable treasure or really important person buried there, sometimes the builders of the tombs would lay false trails. They would put traps and curses and barriers along a hallway that led towards the burial chambers, but ended in a pit or a blank wall. You could waste days, weeks sometimes, working your way deeper into the tomb only to find yourself at a dead end. I don't know exactly what it is, but something about that place feels like it's the same way; like all the dark magic here doesn't really have a purpose of its own, except to make us think that this place is important, and waste our time."

He turned back to the others; both Arthur and Hagrid looked very unsettled.

"But why would the Death Eaters wan' ter lead us out here?" Hagrid asked, "Unless..."

"The Department of Mysteries," Arthur finished, looking stricken. "We've got to warn the others." He raised his wand, and the silver weasel streaked away, vanishing over the hills.

"We ought ter go back ter London and check," said Hagrid. "Who's on guard at the Ministry?"

"I think Emmeline was supposed to be on guard tonight," answered Arthur, "but you're right, Hagrid. There doesn't seem to be anything out here, anyway."

Bill concentrated on Grimmauld place, turning on the spot.

Nothing happened. The air felt somehow more solid here, and he couldn't push himself into the in-between space of apparition. He swore loudly.

"There's an anti-apparition ward up! It is a trap!"

No sooner had he spoken, when jets of green light suddenly came streaking down towards them from the tops of the hills. They were sitting ducks in the little gully, and Bill turned to sprint up the valley, to find a way up to higher ground, Arthur and Hagrid just behind. They scrambled up a slope, Bill firing stunning spells behind him as they climbed, but when they came out on top, the Death Eaters were nowhere to be seen.

Bill tried to apparate again, but was once more unsuccessful. It was possible to dismantle an anti-apparition jinx, but it was difficult and time consuming, and best done with more than one or two wizards. It would be much easier to defeat whoever was casting the spell, or to escape from the area the spell covered. With the Death Eaters out of sight, they opted for the latter option, hurrying along the top of the small ridge they had climbed. But they had only gone perhaps a hundred feet before their enemies showed themselves again, attacking ferociously. Bill slid a few feet down the slope, taking shelter behind a large rock outcrop, and returning spellfire. He squinted through the gathering darkness, unable to see his attackers, and looked around for Hagrid and his father; they were out of sight as well, but he guessed they had gone down the other side of the hill. There was a lull in the attack, and Bill slowly emerged from behind the rocks. No more spells come out of the darkness; the Death Eaters had disappeared once again.

He found Hagrid and Arthur at the bottom of the slope on the other side of the ridge.

"They're trying to prevent us finding our way out of the anti-apparition spell," Bill panted. "They want to keep us pinned down, prevent us from joining the others."

And that certainly seemed to be the case. While they were in the bottom of the little gullies, the Death Eaters hid themselves, but as soon as the Order members tried to climb out to find the edge of the anti-apparition jinx, they were met by a flurry of curses. After another attempt to find a way out was foiled, forcing them to retreat behind a large pile of rocks at the bottom of a hill, Bill saw his father's silhouette sink to the ground in exhaustion. Night had fallen in ernest now, and the only light was from the sliver of moon that had not yet risen fully over the horizon. He thought of Fleur, and wished desperately that he would have talked to her before he left Gringotts in such a hurry. If the Death Eaters were indeed attacking London, she could be in great danger, and he hadn't done anything to protect her. And if they didn't escape tonight...he wished he could have seen her, held her, kissed her one last time.

"We can't keep doing this," Arthur muttered, cutting through his thoughts. Bill knew he was right. They were playing along perfectly with the Death Eaters' plan. Closing his eyes, Bill reached out with his wand, sensing the anti apparition ward. It was well cast; normally he would want at least four or five curse breakers to help him bring it down, but he would have to make do.

"Dad, I'll need your help. I'm going to try to take down the apparition ward."

His father stirred. "Isn't that dangerous with only two wizards?"

"It depends on the caster," he replied, "but in this case I don't think we have a choice."

Together, Bill leading, he and Arthur searched for the seams in the magical web that surrounded them. Anti-apparition wards took a lot of skill and power to cast; they essentially diminished a wizard's access to the magical aether all around them. Spell casting was unaffected, but one could no longer slide into that magical realm of nothingness, to travel instantly over great distances. To take down such a ward meant opening that access once again, and allowing the magic to 'sweep the spell away' - but if it was not done very carefully, it could happen too fast, and potentially injure the wizard trying to do it.

After some minutes of probing, Bill found what he was looking for; a tiny gap in the ward. With his father's help, he slowly made it wider, feeling the unseen web of the enchantment start to fail. But it was going too fast; the rush of magic was tearing the ward apart. Bill disengaged himself from it as the anti-apparition spell collapsed, but the force of it made him stagger. His father was not so quick, and was knocked off his feet, collapsing on the ground.

Shouts came from the hilltops above them, and the green flares of killing curses - the Death Eaters knew their trap had been compromised. Knowing they had only seconds, Bill grabbed a hold of his father's unconscious form and Hagrid's huge forearm, and dragged them into the aether.

They materialized in front of Grimmauld Place, and his father stirred feebly. Hagrid lifted Arthur bodily from the ground, carrying him up the steps behind Bill, and they tumbled into the entrance hall of number twelve.

"Sirius," Bill called up the stairs. "Sirius, have the others come back?"

There was no response. Bill ran up the stairs three at a time, slamming open doors as he passed them. "Sirius!" he shouted, but except for his pounding footsteps the house remained silent. He was about to go back down when he heard a funny scuffling, grunting noise from one of the top floor bedrooms. Shoving open the door, he found Kreacher sitting on a pile of rags, mumbling and chattering excitedly to himself in his low, croaking voice, and giving the occasional snigger of deranged laughter.

"Not his anymore, no, mistress Bella's, yes, he won't come back," he chuckled to himself.

"Kreacher," Bill asked slowly, "where is Sirius?"

The old elf looked at him disdainfully, still muttering. "Blood traitors, mistress wouldn't have allowed it - but he's gone now, isn't he."

"Kreacher! Where is Sirius?" Bill's tone was commanding, his wand drawn and pointed at the elf's chest. Kreacher gave a little shudder, then spoke.

"Master's gone. Won't come back." He gave a maniacal laugh, "master won't come back from the department of mysteries, even if the other traitors went with him."

Bill leaped back down the stairs a flight at a time, his hands supporting him on the creaking wooden handrails. He reached the bottom to find his father standing up, Hagrid supporting him.

"Bill, what's going on? I guess it worked, then?" Arthur asked, a little groggily.

"They've gone to the Department of Mysteries," he answered shortly. "Hagrid, you're wanted by the Ministry - you should stay here with Dad. I'm going to join the others."

And without waiting for a response, he threw open the front door, stepping out onto the porch, and disappeared.

Bill apparated directly to the Ministry of Magic atrium. When he arrived, he was shocked to find it in disarray; it was full of people, talking loudly and excitedly, the fountain of magical brethren that usually stood in the center was destroyed, and the floor was covered with fragments of rubble. For a second he wasn't sure what to do, but then he saw Dumbledore standing the middle of the room, talking to Minister Fudge, and walked towards him.

Dumbledore looked up as he approached, but did not smile.

"Ah, William, you're here. I trust your father and Hagrid are alright?"

Bill nodded. "What's going on? What happened."

Fudge was wearing a strange expression, somewhere between disbelief, terror, annoyance, and contrition.

"What happened?" he blustered. "You-know-who, right here in the Ministry! Unbelievable!"

Bill looked to Dumbledore, who nodded gravely.

"I am afraid I do not have the time to explain everything in full now. I have just sent Harry back to Hogwarts by portkey, and he will be expecting me to join him soon."

"Harry?" Bill interrupted. "Harry Potter? He was here, tonight?"

"I will explain everything soon enough," Dumbledore answered. "Right now, though, I believe the others could use your help on the lower levels."

Understanding this as a dismissal, Bill turned towards the lifts, arriving just as one of the doors opened. Remus staggered out, supporting a dazed and bruised Tonks, and Kingsley was just behind, his wand directed a magically floating stretcher bearing an unconscious Mad-Eye Moody.

"Bill!" Remus exclaimed, "You made it. Where are Hagrid and Arthur?"

"They're back at headquarters," he answered, taking Tonks' other arm and wrapping it around his neck to help her. "You got our message, then?"

"Yes," Kingsley spoke for the first time. "We were getting the same feeling, and apparated back as soon as we got your father's message. Snape was at Headquarters already, he said he thought Voldemort had managed to lure Harry into the department of mysteries. He couldn't come with us, obviously, but we came straight here. What delayed you?"

"We got caught in the trap," said Bill. "We were pinned down in Northumberland - I expect they were trying to keep us all out there, it's a good thing you got away in time." He suddenly realized that someone was missing. "Wait...where's Sirius? Didn't he come with you?" He looked from Kingsley to Remus, but neither of them spoke. They didn't have to; the truth was written on their exhausted faces, in their haunted eyes. "No..."

Slowly, Remus nodded. Tonks stumbled again, her face pale.

"We should get you to St. Mungo's" Remus said to her, but she shook her head.

"I'm fine...I just need to lie down for a bit...let's just go back to Headquarters." Her voice was strained and weak. Remus looked a little torn, but nodded, and Bill could see the care and worry in his eyes.

"I can take her back to Grimmauld Place," he told Bill.

"I'll take Alastor to St. Mungo's," added Kingsley. "Dumbledore said the Order will be meeting tomorrow night."

Remus disappeared first, his arms wrapped around Tonks, and Kingsley followed soon after. Bill stood in shock for a moment, a kind of numb dread settling over him. Sirius, dead. Sirius, who had survived a dozen years in Azkaban, a daring escape, and two years on the run from both Death Eaters and the Ministry. Sirius, who was brave and clever, and had resented spending most of the last year of his life unable to fight for the Order. Sirius, whom he had been unable to save. He couldn't help thinking that if only he'd acted on his instinct earlier, they might have been able to escape the trap before the Death Eaters closed it around them. There would have been three more fighters for the Order, three more which might have made all the difference. But they'd been too slow, they'd played right into Voldemort's hands, and Sirius had paid the price.

The feelings of guilt, regret, and sorrow stirred memories of his nightmare, still vivid in his mind's eye, and his thoughts turned to Fleur. He had left her alone again, without telling her where he was going, and without making sure she was safe. Despite the late hour, he felt a sudden need to see her, to feel her living, warm, beautiful body close to his. Concentrating on the street outside her flat, he turned in place, and disappeared.


	20. To Whatever End

Fleur tossed and turned in bed, feeling that although her body was tired, her mind was still wide awake. More than ever she wanted Bill beside her, holding her, whispering in her ear, telling her that everything was alright. But he wasn't; and maybe he didn't want to be. The thought made tears start to gather in her eyes, but she held them back, angrily. 'Don't be so stupid,' she told herself. 'You haven't cried over a boy for years.' But Bill wasn't just a boy. He was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, and it felt like he was starting to push her away.

After a while, figuring that if she wasn't going to get to sleep there was no point just lying there, she got out of bed again, pacing her flat. Feeling that a little air might do her good, she pulled on some comfortable trousers, threaded her arms into a thin cardigan, and put on her shoes. Checking the door was locked behind her, she slipped out into the cool night air, and began to walk. Although she'd had nowhere in particular in mind, she found herself following the familiar trail out of Diagon Alley towards Bill's flat, wondering if he would be there.

No lights shone through the windows when she got there, and once again no one came to the door when she knocked. Unsure what to do now, she sat down on his porch. 'Maybe I'll just sit here until he comes back,' she thought. 'He has to come back eventually.' Of course 'eventually' might mean days, but she ignored that fact for the moment, ignored the fact that she was already feeling cold and tired. Although it was June, the heat of the day had long since faded, and she shivered a little. But she stayed, clinging to the hope that she could just stay here, and he would come.

xx

Bill appeared in the alley in front of Fleur's flat, and walked up the stairs to knock on her door. 'Maybe she's just asleep,' he thought, after waiting a few minutes with no response. 'Hominem revelio" he murmured, directing his wand towards the door. But no one was there. A shard of icy dread pierced through the numbness and sorrow of Sirius' death, and he looked up and down the alley foolishly, as though he might have missed her standing somewhere close by. Was it possible she had been taken by the Death Eaters? But they had been at the Ministry, looking for the prophecy in secret, and hadn't attacked Diagon Alley. Besides, there was no sign of forced entry, no trace of dark magic, and (thank God) no Dark Mark over her home.

He began to walk back up the alley towards the Leaky Cauldron, trying to think where she would go. She didn't really know anyone else, and he couldn't see her going out by herself in the middle of the night. If she went anywhere, it would be - his place. He hurried out into Muggle London, traversed the few blocks to his flat almost at a run.

She was there, sitting on his porch, her head bowed.

"Fleur," he called, and she looked up. She stood as he approached, and stumbled into his arms. He held her tightly, and realized she was shivering with cold.

"Fleur, what are you doing here?" he asked, half carrying her up the steps to his door.

"You were gone," she murmured, as he opened the door and brought her inside.

"I'm back now," he said, holding her close.

xx

Fleur's worries faded as her body warmed, curled in Bill's arms as they sat together on his sofa. He was rubbing her back, and occasionally stroking her hair back from her forehead. But some of the uncertainty remained; the feeling that he might unexpectedly disappear made her crave closer contact. She turned to press her lips against his, shifting in his embrace so that she could explore his chest and back with her hands.

He pulled her even closer, and she felt heat flood her body he deepened the kiss. Usually Bill let her set the pace, never quite matching her passion, but now he took the lead, his hand moving under her blouse to glide over her skin, sending shivers down her spine as it slid up her back. The sensation made her arch, grinding her hips against his, and she tilted her head back as he kissed down her throat. Her fingers sunk into the roots of his flaming hair, pulling loose the tie that held it back, as his lips found the delicate hollows of her neck and shoulders. At last it felt as though the walls between them were breaking down; he wasn't holding back, and she wanted him more than ever, needed him desperately in every way, needed him to show her that he wanted her as well.

xx

As she moved in his arms, Bill wondered at the sensation of Fleur's body against his hands. She was so warm and soft, and so vibrantly alive, and her sweet kisses began to melt the numbness borne of violence and grief and fear. It was as though she brought him back to life, back from the dark, and he was overwhelmed with the desire to find, to feel, to memorize every part of her, to make her part of himself and give himself to her completely. He could feel her pulse through the fine skin under his lips, that steady beating that proved she lived, that there could be life and joy and beauty even in the face of death.

But that thought suddenly brought home to him the awfulness of Sirius' death, how easily it might have been him. She might have been sitting on his doorstep all night, not knowing that he would never come home; like Sirius, gone without leaving even a body to bury. She would have sat there, not knowing where he was, why he had gone, what had become of him. Not knowing. She didn't know.

Bitter guilt rose up in his chest, threatening to choke him. He was being so selfish, taking advantage of the warmth and comfort and ecstasy of Fleur's touch, so lost in the joy she gave him that he risked her heart and her hope, and she didn't know.

With a tremendous effort of will, he stopped, pulled away.

"We can't do this...not while...not now."

Fleur's sapphire eyes filled with hurt and confusion, her hands on his chest suddenly tentative.

"What...? Why? What's wrong?"

Bill shook his head.

"I haven't been completely honest with you, and things aren't...safe right now. We shouldn't..."

"Why do you do zis, Bill?" Fleur stood up; she looked almost in tears. "Just when I think I'm finally breaking through, you put up all zese walls, you stop talking. You make zese vague 'ints about 'ow dangerous it is, and you push me away!"

Bill felt miserable, but what else could he say? He so badly wanted to tell her everything, but Sirius' death and the open return of Voldemort meant that to reveal the Order was tantamount to pulling her into the middle of a war. He couldn't put her in that kind of danger, he couldn't ask her to endure hours or days of waiting alone, not knowing if he would ever return to her. She deserved a life that was whole and full of love and laughter and light, not beset by darkness and fear and brokenness and death.

He stood, reaching out to touch her.

"Fleur...look, I'm sorry. But it's just...it _is_ dangerous right now, and it's about to get much worse, and there are things...some things I haven't told you, things I can't tell you. I can't ask you to -"

"But I want you to!" Fleur interrupted him. Tears were flowing down her cheeks now, her voice shaking.

"Can't you see I'm willing to risk it, even if it's dangerous? Zat I want to be with you, to understand you, even ze things you're afraid to tell me? Can't you tell zat I want to be a part of your life, always, forever, whatever ze cost? Zat I love you?"

She suddenly gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Bill took a step back, stunned.

xx

Fleur turned and almost fled to the door, pulling it open and running out into the cool night air. She ran a few more paces, then slowed down, wiping her eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did she have to lose control like that? She knew he wasn't ready for her to say that, he'd just made it very clear. It had seemed for a moment that she was finally breaking through, but he just put up the walls again, pushed her away as though he didn't want her.

He didn't want her. Now she'd gone and ruined it. How could she face him now? What would he say? Would he pity her, tell her he was sorry but they probably shouldn't see each other anymore? She kept walking, her feet unconsciously carrying her past Trafalgar Square towards St. James.

xx

Bill stood still in his little living room, at war with himself.

'It's just too dangerous.'

'She wants you anyway.'

'She doesn't know what she'd be getting into'

'She doesn't care.'

'But you would. What if something happened to her? What if something happened to you? You could get killed, or disappear; just not come home one day, and she might never know what happened. You couldn't leave her like that.'

'But if it was the other way round, wouldn't you rather be with her, even if you had to lose her? Even if you were only together for a day, wouldn't it still be worth it?'

"Of course it would," he said out loud. Grabbing his jacket, he hurried to the door, locking it swiftly behind him. "Fleur!" he called, running after the silvery blonde hair in the distance. "Fleur, wait!"

He finally caught up to her in St James Park. She was looking out across the lake, at the lights reflected in the water.

"Fleur, I'm sorry."

She didn't say anything. Tears were still leaking from the corners of her eyes, but she wiped them away. Bill reached out and touched her cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb. "Fleur..."

She finally spoke. "You don't 'ave to say anything. I knew you weren't ready for zat...I should not 'ave said zat."

"Fleur no..." Bill trailed off, wavered for a moment; he needed to be sure. "Did you mean it?"

"Mean it?"

"What you said...did you mean it?" Another tear ran down her cheek. She nodded slowly, and spoke in a tiny voice that was barely more than a whisper.

"Yes...I'm sorry Bill, I didn't mean it come out like that, but...yes, I meant it."

"Fleur...look, I should explain." She looked up into his eyes, and he paused again, hesitating. But there was no stopping now. "I...I'm a member of the Order of the Phoenix."

"The order of the...?" She looked at him blankly.

"It's a secret organization, working to stop Voldemort from gaining power like he had fifteen years ago. He's getting stronger all the time, and we're fighting him; tonight he attacked the Ministry of Magic and one of us was killed fighting him. That's why it's so dangerous for you to be with me."

"Bill..." she said softly, pleadingly. "Bill, I don't care if it's dangerous..."

"I know you don't. I shouldn't have pushed you away, it's just...I'm afraid Fleur." He took her hands and slowly drew her to him, wrapping his arms around her.

"When I was a curse breaker, in Egypt...it's a dangerous job. I knew people who got badly hurt, even killed, doing it. But it never really scared me. It was kind of a thrill, actually - breaking through a three thousand year old curse, knowing that one mistake and I could be dead. It made me feel alive, and I missed it when I came back to England. When I was asked to take on duties for the Order, I felt the same way. I knew it was dangerous, but it was for a good cause, and the risk didn't really bother me. But now..." Bill held her at arms length, looking into her eyes.

"Now I have something else, something worth living for. Something that makes me feel more alive than curse breaking ever did. And I'm afraid, I'm afraid all the time. I'm afraid that something will happen to you because of me. I'm afraid that something will happen to me, and I couldn't bear the pain that might cause you. I'm afraid of never seeing you again."

xx

Bill's voice broke, and he bowed his head. Fleur reached up to his face, letting the tips of her fingers rest against his cheek. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet but steady, and he lifted his eyes back to hers.

"You make me a better man, Fleur. When I'm with you, I feel I'm more like the man I wish I could be for your sake. You make me strong...and you make me weak. You make me brave, and it terrifies me. I love you, Fleur. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, even if that life ends tomorrow."

And then he kissed her, and it was like the first kiss all over again, only better, and all her doubts and fears evaporated, and it felt as though all of her dreams had come true in one instant. The desperation and want of earlier was replaced by soft reassurance, and without words she knew that his kiss was a promise, that he would never leave her, that he would never stop loving her.

It was in a sort of daze that she felt Bill take her hand, leading her gently through the lights and shadows of the London night, and she was almost surprised to find herself looking at his front door. She sensed him hesitate for just a moment, and turned to meet his eyes.

"I want to stay with you," she said softly. He said nothing, but nodded, letting them in. As she crossed the threshold, all the excitement of that evening caught up with her, and she stumbled, suddenly exhausted. But Bill was there to catch her, to hold her. She felt him lift her like a child, carrying her to his bedroom where he helped her undress, tucked her under the covers, and crawled in beside her. She turned over, wrapping an arm around his torso, letting her head rest on his chest. He was warm and solid, and in the safety of his embrace she felt sleep come quickly. But just before she drifted off, she heard his voice, barely a whisper.

"I love you, Fleur"

xx

She was asleep, but Bill lay awake a little longer, watching her, scarcely daring to believe she was real. She was like a miracle, made alive in his arms. How strange it was, that mere hours after a vicious fight for his life, after losing a comrade to death, he would be here, with her. He tried to imagine what it would have been like if he had never met her, or convinced her to return to France where she would be safe. He would be alone now; less worried about her safety, but less human as well.

He thought back to the night after the escape from Azkaban; the way just seeing her, touching her, eased the cold and the darkness in his heart. It was a mistake not to tell her from the start; she was right, he had pushed her away. He so desperately wanted to protect her from harm that he had ended up hurting her himself; and she had been the one who protected him from that darkness.

It was here, he realized, as sleep drew near. Here, on that night, with her asleep against him as she was now, that he had known he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. And here, tonight, he silently vowed not to make his same mistake again; he couldn't try to protect her by pushing her away. They would face the uncertain future together, to whatever end.


	21. Pour Toujours

A/N: French translations are at the end of each section. I really like the use of French in their relationship, but there doesn't seem to be an easy way to provide translations in text without breaking the flow of the story; I'm doing the best I can.

* * *

At first, Fleur didn't open her eyes. She lay still, letting consciousness slowly take shape. She had no memory of dreams, but there was a sweetness, a safe, comforting sort of resonance that filled her.

"Good morning."

She felt the whispered words as much as heard them, and realized her cheek was still against Bill's chest, her arms draped across him, one of her legs over his. Suppressing a yawn, she nuzzled against him, breathing in his smell, her eyes still closed.

" 'Ow did you know I was awake?"

He didn't answer, but she felt his hand rest against the top of her head, then slide over her hair and down her neck to gently rub her back.

"You're beautiful."

She opened her eyes and looked up into his.

"Because I am in love," she answered.

"So am I," he said quietly, running his hand through her hair again. "So am I."

Fleur shifted a little, scooting up towards Bill's head, so her face was next to his.

"I love you, William Arthur."

He smiled, a warm, youthful, untroubled smile that made something inside her swell with joy, and she couldn't resist kissing him.

"I love you, Fleur Isabelle."

"I love you," she said again, just for good measure, and because it felt so good to finally be able to say it.

"I'm sorry, Fleur." His face was suddenly more serious.

"For what?" She fingered one of his crimson locks, twining it through her fingers.

"For not telling you that from the start. For keeping secrets from you. For hurting you, for pushing you away. I'm sorry that we're in a war, and that things are going to be hard for us in the future." He paused, bringing his hand up to caress her cheek. "I wanted to save you from that pain, that darkness. But it was you who saved me."

"You saved me too, Bill," she said quietly. "I was so lonely...I hid behind a mask of pride, acted as though I was better zan everything, but it was all pretend...all a lie, so zat I did not 'ave to face ze truth, zat I was ze one not good enough.

"But you...I could not fool you. I 'ad everyone fooled, even myself, but...do you remember when we saw each other for ze first time? At 'Ogwarts, you were with Monsieur Bagman, and you looked at me across ze lawn?

Bill nodded slowly.

"It was as though you 'ad looked right through me...all zose years of building my facade, and in one moment you broke right through...and I started to realize 'ow lonely I was, 'ow frivolous and selfish..." Fleur trailed off, playing with a lock of Bill's hair, unable to meet his eyes. He didn't say anything, but silently pressed his lips against her forehead, stroking her hair with his hand.

"Maybe it is silly, but I think zat is when I started to fall in love with you. I kept thinking about you, wondering who you were, 'oping I might get a chance to see you again...but when I met you at Gringotts, I was afraid, afraid zat you would turn out to be just like all ze other men I 'ave known, zat I would 'ave come all ze way to England for nothing."

She felt suddenly embarrassed; she had not meant to say that last part, and felt herself blushing. But Bill lifted her chin to meet his gaze, and she saw both laughter and understanding in his eyes.

"Well now that you're here, I hope I can live up to expectations. We wouldn't want you to have come all the way to England only to find I wasn't worth the effort."

Fleur giggled in spite of herself, but soon became serious again.

"You were better...better zan I 'ad dared to dream," she said, very quietly. "It frightened me."

"Why?"

"Because...I was afraid I was not good enough for you. And when you kissed me on Christmas...it seemed to good to be true. I was afraid zat I would lose you, zat you would not love me, would not want me."

Bill shook his head, then kissed her forehead again.

"How could I not want you? You're the most amazing girl in the whole world." He kissed her temple, her cheek, the tip of her nose. "How could I not love you? _C'est impossible."_

Fleur smiled to hear her native tongue from the lips of the man she loved, and snuggled closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"_Non, tu es l'homme le plus étonnant dans le monde," _she murmured into his chest. His gentle hands spread across her back, caressing her, and she felt the slight roughness of his jaw on the top of her head. He was so comforting, so warm and secure, she felt herself almost starting to drift back to sleep.

"Would you marry me?"

At first she wasn't sure if she'd actually heard the words, or whether they had been the beginnings of a dream. Opening her eyes, she raised her head to look into Bill's face.

"Marry me?" he repeated softly.

For a minute, Fleur couldn't speak. She just stared into his grey blue eyes, which held that strange expression she had never known what to call, that she had first seen just before he kissed her for the first time. And suddenly she understood what it was, what it meant.

"Yes," she whispered, barely breathing. "Yes," she said again, feeling joyful tears well up, and torn between laughing and crying. _"Amour de ma vie, oui, Je suis à toi pour toujours." _

Bill was laughing too, and he wrapped his arms around her, rolled her over in the bed and kissed her.

"_Tres merveilleux," _ he said quietly, between kisses, _"Je t'aime."_

"_Pour toujours," _Fleur repeated, as she kissed him back.

"_Pour toujours," _he replied.

* * *

Translations:

_Non, tu es l'homme le plus étonnant dans le monde: _No, you are the most amazing man in the world.

_Amour de ma vie, oui, Je suis à toi pour toujours: _Love of my life, yes, I am yours forever

_Tres merveilleux: _Marvelous, fantastic.

_Pour toujours_: Forever

* * *

It was with a strange sense of surreality that Bill went through his daily routine at work. Everyone seemed to know that something had happened at the Ministry late last night, but it was not in the newspapers (he suspected that the Ministry was still trying to compose its formal statement), and the rumors were still vague. Everyone just went about their day, apparently not knowing or caring that Voldemort had attacked the Ministry of Magic, that Sirius Black was dead.

Yet at the same time, he himself could hardly feel the weight of Sirius' death, borne up as he was on the joy of his engagement to Fleur. It was strange; after all the doubt he'd gone through about their relationship, the second guessing and guilt and wondering if he should even be with her at all, he suddenly found himself feeling remarkably sure. He hadn't planned to ask her. Thought about it, yes, but always in a distant, 'someday after the war' sense. But as they had lain there together, as she murmured his name and told him she loved him, he had suddenly realized that the point of no return was long since past. There could be no more pretending, no more doubts, no more secrets. And so in that moment the words had come to his lips straight from his heart, and though his mind may have been slightly surprised, it knew better than to interfere.

He caught glimpses of Fleur around the office that afternoon, and couldn't help but notice she seemed to be glowing slightly. Had she always done that? There was always that aura of Veela magic around her, but this seemed different, stronger. She saw him, and flashed him a brilliant smile that almost made his knees weak. A passing financial clerk tripped over his own feet, scattering files all over the floor. Bill couldn't help laughing as he helped him collect them; the young clerk had a glazed, slightly confused expression on his face as though he didn't know quite what had happened.

"You're a danger to society, you know," he murmured to Fleur, as she kissed his cheek in greeting.

"_C'est la vie," _she replied unconcernedly."But would you 'ave it any other way?"

"Never," he answered.

"Oi, Weasley." Antonio Benelli was standing in the hall, grinning. "I thought I sent you to pick up the security listings for the Bruges transfer, not to make out with pretty assistants in Arceneau's office."

Bill sighed dramatically.

"Duty calls."

"See you after work?" Fleur asked. Bill hesitated, lowering his voice.

"I can't, I have a...meeting."

She nodded in understanding.

"Come over later, zen? I want to talk to you about something."

Bill nodded, then left her with a last kiss on the cheek and followed his boss back to his own office.

"What did you do to her?" Benelli teased, still grinning.

"What do you mean?"

"Eugene's been complaining all morning. Apparently ever since she came in she's been glowing like that, and he says his male staff are completely useless, and he can barely concentrate himself when she's in the room."

Antonio looked positively delighted at his colleague's inconvenience. Although Bill had come to realize that Benelli and Arceneau were fast friends, the two disagreed on practically every issue one could hold an opinion about, and seemed to take pleasure in antagonizing one another.

"What does that have to do with me?" Bill asked, feigning ignorance though he knew his boss wasn't fooled. Benelli just rolled his eyes.

"Come on Bill, it's completely obvious. The way she looks at you, anyone would think _you_ had enchanted _her._"

* * *

_C'est la vie: _Such is life.

* * *

If the reality of Sirius' death had been hard to comprehend during the day, it returned twice as heavy that evening, when Bill arrived at Grimmauld Place. The Order trickled in to sit around the large table, all looking rather despondent. Mad-Eye was present, looking meaner and more grizzled than ever, as was Tonks, though she looked sickly and had to take a sip of healing potion every half hour. It wasn't until everyone had sat down that Bill realized they had, as usual, left an empty seat between Remus and Arthur. But there was no-one to fill it. Sirius was gone forever, with his bark-like laugh, his youthful smile that shone unexpectedly from his wasted features, his hoarse voice that would never again be heard in the halls of his ancestral home.

Molly was fretting anxiously, her husband murmuring quiet words of soothing in her ear. Dumbledore arrived last, his face grave and careworn, and looking older than Bill had ever seen him. He did not sit down, but looked at the empty chair for a long time. At last he spoke.

"Let us stand and remember Sirius Black." There was a scraping of chairs as the Order rose to its feet, Tonks a little shakily and helped up by Remus.

"A man of passion, of courage, of loyalty and honor. A brilliant student, who nonetheless had far more fun while at school than was strictly allowed." At this Remus, who's expression had been one of bitterness and sorrow, actually cracked the slightest of smiles.

"A man who should have lived in peace, but was imprisoned for a crime he did not commit, rejected by those who should have defended him, who nonetheless persevered beyond all hope. Who should have enjoyed his amazing second chance, surrounded by friends until old age, but whose life was cut tragically short."

Dumbledore gestured with his wand, conjuring a bottle of firewhiskey along with many small glasses, which filled themselves and floated over the table towards each of the members of the Order.

"He was the best friend a man could ask for," said Remus quietly, as he reached for his glass. Others round the table nodded in agreement.

"To Sirius Black," Dumbledore said, raising his glass, and the rest of the Order followed him.

"To Sirius Black." They drank to the memory of a friend, of a comrade in arms, who had fallen before his time fighting for those he loved. Bill saw Snape, inconspicuous in the shadows near Dumbledore, scowling, examining his still full glass. The potions master's longstanding enmity with Sirius was obvious, but after a brief moment of hesitation, Snape lifted the glass to his lips and drank. Dumbledore stood in silence after finishing his own drink, then joined the rest as they sat down.

"I am sure that everyone present understands the gravity of our current situation," he said at last. "Voldemort has at last returned openly; the war has begun in ernest. We will have hard times ahead of us, and I am not naive enough to hope that Sirius will be the only one to leave an empty place at this table before they are over. However, we must address some of the most pressing circumstances first. Unfortunately, I am no longer certain that this house is secure. Black tradition decrees that it passes to the eldest male heir bearing the name, but Sirius was the last of his line. We must therefore find his will; I expect he will have left his possessions to Harry, but it is possible that ownership of the house will pass instead to his eldest living relative, Bellatrix Lestrange, whatever Sirius has put in his will."

There was a murmur around the table as Dumbledore spoke, and Tonks gave a shudder.

"So dear old Aunt Bella could just show up at any moment?"

"How do we find out?" Remus asked.

"First we must examine the will," Dumbledore continued, "but if Harry has inherited the house he will also have inherited Kreacher; I will be able to determine whether this is the case fairly easily. In the meantime, I suggest that we vacate Grimmauld Place until its ownership can be ascertained"

"We can accommodate meetings at the Burrow if need be," said Arthur.

"The school year ends next week," added Molly, "Harry can come home with us; I expect we'll have found Sirius' will by then."

"Thank you for your hospitality, Arthur," said Dumbledore. "Unfortunately, Harry must return to his relatives home this summer for at least a fortnight. He is protected there by the ancient magic I invoked over that house. However, I may have need of him in a few weeks time, and will determine whether it is safe for us to return here before bringing him to you, Molly."

"So what's Fudge's new position, now his head's been finally dragged out of the sand?" Moody growled.

"I believe the ministry is preparing an official statement, to be released Sunday," Dumbledore answered. "Once they do, of course, I doubt that Cornelius will retain his office much longer."

"Rufus Scrimgour's already got his eyes on the job," said Kingley.

"At least the Order won't have to hide from the ministry any more," Emmeline Vance commented. She had been found unconscious in a storage closet at the ministry, having been stunned by the Death Eaters infiltrating the department of mysteries, and was quite put out about it.

"I'm afraid that may be little consolation, now that Voldemort is free to act openly; but Severus can say more on that point." Dumbledore gestured to Snape, who nodded before addressing the Order at large.

"The dementors are under the full control of the Dark Lord, and have begun to leave Azkaban already. I expect by next week they will have deserted the prison entirely and spread across Britain. The Dark Lord has also been successful in bringing at least two giants to join him. He will first move to inspire fear, with murders and chaos; his blows will land heaviest on the muggle population to begin with. He wants wizarding Britain afraid and uncertain, not united against him."

"He did not hear the rest of the prophecy he so eagerly was seeking." Dumbledore picked up where Snape left off. "In the midst of his campaign of terror expect he will continue to look for an opportunity to attack both Harry Potter and myself in particular. The Order should maintain a presence at Hogwarts, in addition to working reactively against Voldemort's actions."

"We're always reacting," Mad-Eye grumbled, "and it's never enough. We ought to be working to defeat him altogether."

"Be assured, that is my deepest concern," Dumbledore answered cryptically, "but it is not the work of the Order at this time."

Bill meant to apparate straight to Fleur's flat as soon as the meeting was over, but his mother caught his sleeve.

"Bill dear, can you come over this weekend to help us move back? Ron and Ginny are getting back on Thursday, and Ron wants Hermione to come stay with us the week after - and of course Harry will be coming as well. I'd like to be all moved in and settled before they get here." Bill nodded

"I'll come over Saturday afternoon."

* * *

Fleur practically skipped home after work, dropping by her fiancé's office for a kiss. He had a meeting with the Order of the Phoenix tonight, but he said he'd come over around eight. Her fiancé - the word made her fingers tingle with excitement. It was almost hard to believe that she was actually engaged, and to the most amazing man on earth.

Feeling she must tell someone or else explode with happiness, she found a sheet of parchment and began writing a letter to her family, to share her good news. She had told her parents about Bill of course, but always said a little less than she could - everything had seemed so new and uncertain, and she didn't want to get her own hopes up too high. Although her mother had included a few pointed questions in her letters, she seemed to understand Fleur's hesitancy, and was tactful in her comments. Now there was no need for such discretion, and when she had finished she was not entirely sure that her parents would be able to read the letter; her handwriting was rather larger and much messier than usual, and she had used quite a few more exclamation marks than was grammatically appropriate.

When Bill finally arrived, she ran to the door, flinging it open and leaping into his arms.

"Steady on," he laughed, carrying her back across the threshold, nudging shut the door behind him. "You'd think you hadn't seen me for three weeks, not three hours."

"But without you, ze hours feel like years," she answered unashamedly, covering his mouth with hers. Bill shrugged out of his jacket and her feet touched the ground again, drawing them towards her bedroom.

"I love you," he said against her lips. Fleur deepened the kiss, her hands trailing down to unbutton his shirt as Bill's found their way under her blouse. She let her fingers wander over his chest, then began to unfasten his belt as her back pressed against the bedroom door.

"_Je t'aime aussi,_" she murmured between kisses, "_J'adore." _Her voice trailed into a whimper as his hand slid up her stomach and his lips moved down her neck. "_Je te veux,_ _mon mari."_

Bill paused, raising his head back to meet her eyes.

"Are you sure?" His expression was tender but serious. "It's so soon...we're in the middle of a war, you have-" but she silenced him with another kiss, holding her lips against his. At last she pulled away, looking back into his eyes.

"Zat you will be my 'usband? I 'ave never been more sure of anything in my life."

"What about...I mean, do you think we should...wait?" He glanced down at her hands, hovering in the act of unbuttoning his trousers. "Till we're married, I mean..."

"What is a wedding?" she asked softly, their faces just inches apart. "Family and friends, flowers and pretty dresses. Ceremony, with rings and speeches and tears, and it will be beautiful. But it is not a marriage." She lifted her hand to touch just over her heart, then laid her fingers against his chest. "Zis," she whispered, "zis is a marriage. _Tu es le seul pour moi, et Je te veux. Ce soir. Pour toujours."_

Bill covered her hand with his then imitated her, resting his palm over her heart. The tips of their noses brushed together as, ever so softly, he touched his lips to hers.

"_Pour toujours._"

* * *

_Je t'aime/aussi_: I love you/too

_J'adore: _I adore you

_Je te veux_: I want you

_Mon mari_: My husband

_Tu es le seul pour moi, et Je te veux. Ce soir. Pour toujours: _You are the only one for me, and I want you. Tonight. Forever.


	22. News

He could spend forever just listening to her breathe. She wasn't asleep yet, not quite, but her eyes were closed, her cheek resting against his neck. Bill let his fingers trail through her white gold hair, across her shoulders, down the porcelain skin of her back. Fleur moved very slightly under his touch, and he marveled once again at how slender and delicate she was. Her waist was no wider than the length of his hand, and although she lay mostly on top of him she seemed to weigh almost nothing. And she _was_ glowing. It wasn't so much that light was emanating from her, but as though moonlight was falling on her skin and hair, even though the moon had not yet risen in the twilight outside.

"Are you real?" he whispered, almost doubting that such a beautiful, wonderful creature could actually exist, could really be nestled naked against his chest.

"_Non," _she mumbled sleepily, "_Je suis dans un rêve dans lequel tu m'aimes."_

Bill smiled, breathing in deeply; she smelled of roses and vanilla, springtime and joy.

"Then I am in the same dream."

* * *

_Non, je suis dans un rêve dans lequel tu m'aimes._

No, I'm in a dream in which you love me.

* * *

"You wanted to talk about something?"

It was true, she had wanted to talk to him about something, but it was difficult to care at the moment. Somewhat reluctantly, Fleur let her mind return from the warm, cozy, quiet place it had been hiding to remember what had seemed quite important earlier in the day.

"My job," she began, growing more awake as she thought about it.

"What about it?" Bill stroked her hair absentmindedly.

"I work only two days a week, starting next month."

"Mmm." Apparently he didn't understand what that meant.

"So I won't be able to afford zis appartement."

"Oh." His tone was slightly surprised. "But I thought your job was going well?"

"It is, but zey are reducing my hours anyway, zey said it was for 'efficiency.' But I cannot afford to live 'ere anymore." She looked up at Bill, hoping he would offer before she had to ask the obvious.

"Well that's a shame," he said seriously, though his eyes were smiling. "Wherever will you go?" She looked at him reproachfully, and the corners of his mouth twitched. "You've found my weakness, it seems. How can I tease you when you look at me like that?" His face cracked into a broad grin. "Of course you can live with me."

"Good," she said, smiling herself, and cuddling more tightly against him.

"Although..." he started slowly, and she looked back up. "I was just thinking...I'd like to spend some more time with my family this summer, and it would be good for them to meet you if we're going to be married. What if you came and lived at the Burrow for a bit? Then I won't be leaving you alone all day while I'm at work on the days you have off."

"Alright," she said. The idea of meeting his family, of being introduced as his fiancée, was simultaneously exciting and a little intimidating. It made their engagement feel more real, and getting to know his parents and siblings was important if they were going to become her family as well. But it made her nervous too. What if they didn't like her? What if she didn't like them? Bill had five brothers - she didn't have any, and had never had a real male friend before Bill, and it was always hard for her to get along with other girls. Bill must have guessed what she was thinking.

"It'll be fine," he reassured her, rubbing her back. "They'll love you. I do."

* * *

True to his promise, Bill showed up at Grimmauld Place on Saturday, a little before noon. The house was empty; apparently the order had largely finished vacating the premises, and his mother had not yet arrived to bring home the rest of their bits and sundries. He wandered through the ground floor, taking in the dusty formal dining room that they had never eaten it. It was grand and a little imposing, but slightly sinister as well, like much of the old house. The study too lacked the cozy, bookish feeling one might expect of such a room, and was austere and unwelcoming. Bill imagined Sirius pacing these halls and rooms as he himself was now, alone for days, even weeks at a time and unable to leave, and felt a stab of regret at how he'd been forced to spend most of the last year of his life. Wouldn't it have been better to let him take a larger part in the Order's missions, in spite of the danger, rather than keeping him locked up here for his own protection? For the danger had claimed his life nonetheless.

A noise from upstairs startled Bill out of his reverie. It sounded as though something heavy had been dropped or knocked over on the second floor.

"Hello?" he called, but received no answer. Who would be here now? The Order had left, and his parents had not yet returned to take what remained of the things they had brought. Bill thought of Dumbledore's fear that the house might pass to Bellatrix Lestrange, rather than Harry, and drew his wand. He made his way back to the stairs and began to ascend, walking carefully so as to make as little noise as possible. He passed the unclosed doors to the toilet and smallest bedroom on the first floor, and slowly pushed open the door to the drawing room. A cursory look revealed it to be empty, so he began to ascend the second flight. He heard a scuffling noise from the bedroom at the end of the hall, and slowly approached it. The door was slightly ajar, and he gently pressed it open a little wider, wand at the ready.

It became immediately clear that Bellatrix Lestrange and the Death Eaters had not in fact come to call. Remus and Tonks were on the other side of the little bedroom, completely oblivious to Bill's presence. Remus had his back to the door, his arms supporting Tonks who was pressed against the wall, one leg wrapped around Remus' hip, one hand on his neck and the other roaming over his back. Completely preoccupied with one another, they showed no signs of noticing Bill, who slowly backed out of the room, pulling the door to behind him. He made his way quietly down the hall and descended the stairs. After a minute or so, he gave a rather loud cough, and heard a thump and a clatter from above, as though something else had been knocked over. A little later, he heard the bedroom door open, and started to reascend the flight of stairs back up to the second floor.

He met Remus and Tonks at the top of the stairs; both were rather flushed and disheveled, and Tonks' hair was the brightest shade of pink he had ever seen it.

"Oh, er, hello Bill," Remus stuttered slightly. "Dora and I were just, er-"

"Looking for Sirius' will," Tonks finished. "Well, have to be going," she added, rather quickly, starting down the stairs with Remus close behind her. Bill noticed she seemed to be surreptitiously adjusting her bra, and tried not to think about what that meant.

"Did you find it?" he asked, trying to suppress a grin as he followed the couple down the stairs.

"Er, not yet," Lupin answered. "We'll come back later...now we've got to, erm..."

He was spared thinking of an excuse as Molly Weasley chose that moment to arrive, bustling in through the front door.

"Oh, hello Remus, Dora. I didn't expect to see you here - and Bill, good, I've just talked to your father, and he'll be along in a bit - had a small situation at work, and he had to go in, but he'll be here to help us clear out the place." She looked at Lupin and Tonks, who were both fidgeting uncomfortably. "Were you two-"

"Just looking for Sirius' will," Remus said quickly. "Got to get going though, good to see you as always Molly, Bill." He nodded briefly to both of them, and departed hastily, Tonks just behind him. As she left, she turned momentarily to glance at Bill, throwing him a sly wink before the door shut behind her.

"Well that was a bit odd," Molly commented, looking at the closed door. "I don't see what the hurry was, they're both off duty at the moment."

Bill declined to comment, following his mother towards the kitchen.

"I've just seen Fred and George," Molly went on, opening drawers to collect her kitchenware. "They came by the Burrow this morning, put a big crate in their room and left with a couple of smaller boxes, wouldn't tell me what was in them. Those two! To think, dropping out of school only a month before their final exams, to start a joke shop of all things! Why couldn't they get normal jobs, work at the bank or the ministry -" She broke off suddenly, and dropped the handful of spoons she had been holding.

Bill kneeled to pick up the ones that had fallen on the floor.

"Percy's still not come to his senses then?" he asked quietly. His mother shook her head.

"Your father tried to talk to him again this week. We thought, since everyone knows You-know-who is back, and Fudge has resigned, maybe he'd see sense, but they just ended up fighting again. I don't know what to do..." Molly wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress.

"Sorry, Bill, it's just...Percy's gone, Charlie's still away in Romania, and you're here in the Order - makes me worry so much. And what with the twins dropping out and causing havoc, and then Ron and Ginny almost getting killed at the Department of Mysteries -"

"What! Ginny and Ron were there too?" Bill must have somehow missed this important piece of information. "What on earth were they doing there?"

Molly shook her head. "They went with Harry, along Hermione and several other children. Completely irresponsible, it's a wonder none of them were killed."

"They're alright?"

"Ginny broke her ankle, and Ron got injured by something in the Department of Mysteries, but yes, they're alright now, thank goodness. They're coming home on Wednesday."

Bill helped his mother gather the kitchenware she had brought, shrinking it and packing it a box to take home. He carried it up to the entrance hall just as his father arrived.

"Is that you, Arthur?" Molly called up the stairs.

"It's me, dear. Hello, Bill."

"Hi Dad," he greeted his father with a hug. "How are things at the ministry?"

"Scrimgour's got the job as Minister." Arthur met his wife in an embrace as she came up to join them. "He's setting up a bunch of new offices to deal with the war. It's not official yet, but he wants me to head up the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects."

"Oh that's wonderful, dear!" Molly exclaimed.

"I suppose so. I expect I'll get a pay rise, but I quite liked muggle artifacts." His wife fixed him with a severe look. "Not that I would miss them much anyway," he hastily added, "so it's definitely better all round. Have you collected everything already?"

"We've mostly finished the kitchen. Why don't you and Bill see if there's anything we've left upstairs, while I do one last check in the basement?"

* * *

"Actually, I would much rather be working with muggle things than counterfeit defensive objects - it'll just be amulets and fake dragon claw powder and that sort of thing," Arthur confided in his son as they checked the bedrooms, "though I suppose some genuinely dangerous things will turn up as well." There wasn't much that had been left; a pair of Ron's socks, a single earring that might have belonged to Ginny or Hermione. The most notable find was in the twins room: a box under the bed containing a pile of extendable ears, some dungbombs, and several trick wands. Once they were sure nothing important had been left behind, they rejoined Molly downstairs, and the three of them apparated together back to the Burrow.

"I'm so glad you've got a promotion Arthur," Molly said happily, as she fixed sandwiches for lunch. "It'll make getting schoolbooks easier, and I'm sure Ron will need some new robes. What about you Bill? Is your job at Gringotts still going well?"

Bill nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"Yeah, the job's fine. They've been making a whole lot of security changes lately - they suspected the change in ministry power before anyone else I think." He paused for a moment. "Actually, there was something else I wanted to talk to you and Dad about, though."

"What's that, dear?"

"Well, I invited my fiancée to come live here for a bit, since she's only working part time; that way you could get to know each other," he said simply.

"Oh, of course Bill, I'm sure that will be..." Molly trailed off, turning away from her nearly finished sandwiches to stare at him, open mouthed. "Bill..." she said slowly.

"Yes Mum?" he said brightly, working hard to keep a straight face. He didn't think he'd ever seen his mother look so taken back, and glanced at his father across the table. Arthur was looking expectantly at him with his eyebrows raised, though he did not seem nearly as shocked as his wife.

"Could you...repeat that first bit again," she said at last.

"That I invited her to stay here for a bit?"

"Er, yes...who, did you say?"

"Fleur. I thought, since we're going to be married -"

"Married?" she repeated, still aghast, sinking into a chair.

"William, stop teasing your poor mother." He could tell his father was trying not to laugh. "Go on, tell us about her. Is it true she's a Veela?"

This time it was Bill's turn to be surprised. He stared at his father in disbelief, but Arthur just shrugged.

"You hear some funny rumors if you listen to Fred and George. I figured the one about the hippogriff was a complete fabrication, but the Veela girlfriend might have a grain of truth to it."

"Yeah...well, her Grandmother was one. She's from France, but she got a part time job at Gringotts - that's how we got to know each other, though we sort of met before, at the Triwizard Tournament last year."

So Bill told his parents about his relationship with Fleur, from their 'English lessons' last summer, through the beginning of their romantic relationship over Christmas, up to his proposal last week, though he left out some of the more intimate details. When he had finished, his father was beaming at him, but his mother looked a little worried.

"What is it, Mum?"

Molly smiled a little uncomfortably.

"It's wonderful, Bill, it is, only...don't you think you might be rushing into things a bit?"

"Bill's a sensible lad, Molly," said Arthur. "I know you don't want to lose your little boy, but he's a man now."

"I know, but...remember when You-know-who was gaining power the first time? How many young people rushed into marriage-"

"Like us, you mean?" interrupted her husband, gently. "Like the Potters?"

Molly blanched a little at the memory of Lily and James, but went on doggedly.

"But we knew each other for years before; they've only just met. And if she's a Veela...are you sure you know what you're doing, Bill?"

"I'm a curse breaker, Mum. I'd know if I was under an enchantment, if that's what you mean. And I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

At this, Molly seemed to relent.

"Well then," she said, smiling more genuinely. "I'm sure we'll love having her here. Why don't you bring her to meet everyone on Thursday?"

Bill nodded, then remembered something he'd been thinking of earlier; he ought to do it properly, even if she'd technically already said yes.

"Mum, do you still have Great Grandma Prewitt's engagement ring?"

* * *

After supper that evening, as he and Fleur cuddled on his sofa, Bill thought over his mother's reaction to his news. He was admittedly a little disappointed with her tentative and somewhat doubtful response; he had been expecting rather more excitement and less caution and doubt. Especially considering her usual practice of asking him and Charlie whether they had found 'someone special' yet at every opportunity.

On the other hand, he could definitely see her point. Sometimes, when he thought of the fact that Sirius had just been killed a few days prior, that the wizarding world was gearing up for war, he was reminded of his own doubts, and it seemed completely mad for him to be getting engaged at a time like this. But one look at Fleur and any reservations he still kept would vanish in a moment. Maybe that was the point; if they forsook love because of fear or war, in a way it was letting Voldemort win. So, in the spirit of defying Voldemort, he tipped Fleur's face up towards him, and met her lips with a searing kiss. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in the roots of his hair - God, he loved it when she did that - and making little cooing noises of pleasure.

"_Mon dieu, ce que tu fais de moi,"_ she murmured as they parted. Bill let his forehead rest against hers, their noses just touching. "Can I stay with you tonight?" she asked softly.

"I love you," he answered, "you can stay."

She smiled, and briefly pressed her lips to his.

"And tomorrow? Can I stay with you tomorrow night?" she whispered.

"I'll love you tomorrow; you can stay."

She kissed him again.

"And after tomorrow," she breathed, "can I stay with you forever?"

"Forever," he whispered back. "I'll love you forever; you can stay."

* * *

_Mon dieu, ce que tu fais de moi - _My god, what you do to me.


	23. Doing it Properly

The next morning, Fleur woke up to the aroma of breakfast cooking, and a low voice humming from the next room. She opened her eyes, taking in the bright summer sunshine that suggested it was at least ten in the morning. Rolling over, she stretched and sat up, just as Bill came round the corner with eggs, toast, sausages, and orange juice on a tray.

"Morning, sleeping beauty. I have breakfast."

"Mmm," she sighed contentedly. "I could get used to waking up like zis."

Bill grinned, kissing her cheek as he sat down beside her on the bed.

"So could I."

She scooted closer to him, so that the tray rested across both their laps, and took a bite of egg.

"What were you singing, earlier?"

"Hmm?"

"When you were making breakfast, I 'eard you singing."

"Oh, nothing in particular. Just a habit, I guess, from working in the tombs."

"You sing in the tombs in Egypt?" Fleur asked, slightly confused.

Bill laughed.

"Sometimes, yeah. It helps a lot with concentration when you're working a dangerous curse."

She looked at him curiously.

"Tell me about it."

"Well," he began, looking thoughtful, "I don't know if there's anything else quite like it. It's a strange feeling, walking into a building that has been sealed for two, three, four thousand years. It's definitely dangerous, and sometimes pretty scary; you can get lost, or trapped down there, and it's pitch black, with hidden traps and unexpected pits full of scorpions. It was my mentor who taught me the singing trick to help keep your head in a place like that."

"Your mentor?"

"His name was Abū Karim al-Ḥusayn Yusuf, though most of us just called him Karim. He was from Egypt himself, one of the handful of curse breakers who cracked the concealment charms that kept the Egyptian tombs hidden for so long, and pioneered methods for breaking into them. There are often many layers of curses on a tomb, and you need to be precise and careful because they can be interwoven so you need to bring them down together. Sometimes, you get to a place where it feels like you're stuck; you can't figure out how to bring down the barriers completely, but you can't back out. Most of the time, when people get injured or killed in curse breaking, it's because they get to a spot like that, and panic or make a wrong move. Karim was a musician as well as a curse breaker - he said music could give him the inspiration and patience to break through a hard curse. 'When you find yourself in a trap, or locked in alone in the dark, or in the midst of a dangerous curse, think of a song you know, and start singing it to yourself,' he used to say. 'It will give you something to concentrate on if you're not sure what to do, so you don't get impatient; hasty curse breaking is how people die. And when you get scared, a good song will help you keep your cool and stay focused.' I was never a musician like him, but he was right - just humming or singing when you're scared or uncertain makes a big difference."

"Like 'ow I draw when I'm worried about things. It makes it easier to deal with."

Bill nodded, taking a bite of toast, and they sat in comfortable silence for a bit, enjoying breakfast in bed together.

"When we are married, will you bring me breakfast in bed?

"Yes," he answered, kissing her cheek. "Not everyday, but occasionally. Like on our anniversary. Or your birthday. Or on holidays. Or whenever I feel like it. But not too often," he smiled, kissing her again. "Wouldn't want to spoil you too badly."

"I am afraid you may be to late for zat," she laughed. "I think I am spoiled enough already. But you love me anyways?"

"I love you anyways," he confirmed.

"Forever?"

"Forever. Even when you're old and grey and wrinkly."

"Pah," she huffed, shaking her head. "Veela women do not get 'grey and wrinkly.' I will be beautiful forever," she declared proudly.

"That's nice, I suppose," Bill said, unconcernedly. "Although, don't you think you might be missing out a bit?"

She looked up at him, confused, and slightly deflated.

"Missing out?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm very good looking now," he gestured airily towards his own face, "But someday I won't be. I expect that will give me a different perspective, don't you think? Besides, won't it be a bit odd, when we're old, if I'm bald and wrinkly and you're as beautiful as ever?"

She'd never really thought of it like that before. It was difficult to imagine not being a center of attention because of her looks, though sometimes she had half wished for it.

"Perhaps you are right," she smiled. "You will 'ave to tell me what it is like, when you are old, and whether it is worth it. And while you are finding your new perspective, I will be beautiful enough for both of us."

"Sounds like a reasonable division of labor," said Bill, grinning. "And while we're on the subject, how about I take care of this tray, while you get dressed?"

"Or, you could take care of zat tray while I relax in my pajamas, zen you could come and give me kisses and back rubs while I stay in bed all day."

"Well, I can't deny that the idea of spending all day in bed with you is tempting," Bill raised his eyebrows suggestively, causing her to blush, "but I have something else in mind, which requires you to be dressed. So why don't you go put some comfortable clothes on, while I get a few things ready."

Fleur opened her mouth to speak, but Bill guessed what she was going to ask before she could say anything.

"And don't bother asking where we're going or what I need to get ready, that would ruin the surprise. Just wear shoes you can walk in." He helped her out of bed, kissing the top of her head. "Off you go then; I'll see you back here in half an hour."

Obligingly, she apparated back to her flat for some fresh clothes and shoes. Soon, she thought, she would not have to leave Bill in order to go home. Of course, that would mean moving all of her things out of her own flat and into Bill's, but as the flat had come fully furnished that wouldn't be too much trouble.

When Fleur returned, she found Bill waiting for her in the hallway. He took her hand, drawing her into a kiss.

"Ready?"

She nodded. He turned on the spot, and she felt the familiar squeezing sensation of apparition, then a sudden wind in her face. Opening her eyes, she found herself atop a grassy ridge, which sloped down steeply towards a shining blue lake, glittering in the bright sun. Rolling green dales dotted with trees and rocky outcrops extended to the horizon, with steeper hills in the distance.

She looked in amazement at Bill, who laughed.

"Welcome to the Lake District. London's alright, as cities go, but you can't come to England and never see this."

Fleur turned around in circles, drinking in the warm sunshine, her face turned up towards the heavens.

"C'est magnifique," she murmured, almost reverently, looking up at the clear, open sky scattered with wisps of cloud. Turning back to Bill, she wrapped her arms around his neck, then cried out in surprise as he lifted her off her feet, spinning her around, then meeting her lips in a passionate kiss.

As he set her down, she tugged on the tie that held his hair back, so that it spilled out across his shoulders, rippling and fluttering in the wind.

"_Je t'aime_."

"I love you too," he replied. His hand found hers, and he led her off the top off the ridge, down a small incline. A narrow trail appeared a little further down, and they followed as it wound past a hollow full of ferns nestled between two hills, an open plateau with rocks jutting out of the ground, then down into a little wood. A wall of piled stones ran beside their path, which turned into a short flight of rocky stairs, overhung with leafy branches. Eventually the ground leveled, and the trees opened onto a grassy meadow, which sloped gently down to the clear lake she had seen from the top of the hill.

" 'Ow did you find zis place?" she asked in wonderment, as they walked towards the water.

"We came here a few times, when I was a kid. It's harder to travel now, the family's bigger and Dad's working more, but I have some fond childhood memories of the Lake District. Now that I think of it, many of those involved pushing Charlie into a lake." He laughed. "But I thought I might come back, and see if I could find anywhere I recognized. Some things have changed a bit, but most of it's stayed the same. This spot for instance, is just like I remember it."

They were standing near the edge of the lake now, on a little knoll in the grass. The water up close was crystal clear, and as she approached Fleur could see the stony bottom as well as the reflection of trees, clouds, and the afternoon sun above it. Water lilies floated on the surface, and for a few minutes she watched as a handful of tiny fish and tadpoles darted between them.

"Are you hungry?"

She turned back to Bill, to find that he had laid a blanket out across the knoll and was opening up a picnic basket which he had apparently conjured out of thin air.

"Bill," she laughed as she sat down beside him, "you must be ze most romantic man in ze world, even with your earring and your leather boots."

"Shush, don't tell anyone," he whispered conspiratorially, as he unpacked bread, cheese, salad, fruit, grilled chicken, "and, since we're celebrating -" a bottle of Champaign and two crystal flutes.

"What are we celebrating?" Fleur asked, unable to contain her smile.

"You'll find out in a bit. First, let's have lunch."

They ate, and talked, and laughed, and Fleur made plans for redecorating Bill's flat after she moved in, and he reminded her that they were going to stay with his family for the summer, but she could decorate however she wanted as long as there wasn't too much pink involved.

"I don't think my mum will let us share a room, you know," he commented. "She's a bit...traditional about that sort of thing."

"_Ma mere aussi," _Fleur agreed. In her letters to her own mother, she had neglected to mention that she and Bill would be living together before their marriage; she knew it was not uncommon among muggles, but the wizarding world was a little slower to change (they did still wear robes, after all).

After they had finished, Bill tidied away the leftover food, shrinking the blanket and basket so they could be slipped easily in his pocket. She felt his fingers twine between hers, and they walked down to stand facing out across the water, the sun in their eyes.

"I love you," he said quietly. She turned to face him, pressing her lips briefly to his.

"I know," she answered, a little cheekily. "I love you too."

"I want to tell you that every day, for as long as we live. I want to share everything with you, to give everything for you." His expression was more serious, and he took both of her hands in his, holding them in front of him. He suddenly bent down on one knee in front of her, fumbling in his pocket for a moment.

"_Tu es la femme de mes rêves. Voulez-vous m'epouser?"_

Gently, he slipped a ring onto her the third finger of her left hand. It was silvery and slender, and intricately wrought with tiny stones and etchings of flowers along the band. Fleur felt tears behind her eyes, but she laughed at him anyways.

"_Bien sûr je vais, tu sais que je vais, _you silly, wonderful man." She tugged on his hands, and met his lips with hers as as he stood up. She didn't notice that her feet had left the ground until he set her down a few moments later.

"You didn't need to ask me again; I already said yes," she laughed quietly, "though now I know what we were celebrating with ze champaign."

"Last time it was a sort of spur of the moment thing," he replied. "I thought I ought to do it properly; you know, with the romantic location, the ring, down on one knee and all that."

"Well zen, feel free to ask me to marry you as often as you like. Ze answer will always be yes.

* * *

_Tu es la femme de mes rêves. Voulez-vous m'epouser? - You are the woman of my dreams. Will you marry me?_

___Bien sûr je vais, tu sais que je vais - Of course I will, you know I will._

* * *

A/N: Yes, I updated. Please no-one die of shock! I know this one's just short and sweet - maybe think of it as an apology for taking so long. Life's been crazy, but I really do want to finish this, so don't lose hope :)


	24. Many Meetings

Sorry about the long wait, and that little hiccup with the update. Here's the next chapter at last!

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Fleur's first impression of Britain had been that it was cold. Admittedly, she had arrived in Scotland at the end of October, but it was more than just the temperature; Hogwarts was grey and drafty and dark compared to the open spaces, the broad windows and white marble of Beauxbatons. London was better, especially in the summer, but still it felt gloomy compared to Marseilles or Cannes. But as Bill ushered her in through the front door of the peculiar house in which he had grown up, she had a sudden impression of warmth and coziness, as though it emanated from the walls.

It was so different from anywhere she had lived, with its haphazard construction, overgrown garden, and chickens loose in the yard. Beauxbatons was always immaculate, as was her childhood home, and the cluttered interior of the Burrow was at once foreign and surprisingly welcoming. She was reminded a little of her father's study, with its books lying open on the desk, stacks of notes scattered in a precise order that only Papa could comprehend. Or perhaps Gabrielle's room, where something was always out of place. She felt a pang of homesickness for her parents, and especially her dear younger sister, whom she had not seen for more than a year now.

She felt Bill squeeze her hand reassuringly, and smiled at him. He was her family now, and where he called home, she would also.

"Mum, Dad," he called, closing the door behind them, "we're here." She followed him into a bright, slightly shabby but cosy sitting room, full of photographs and books, with blankets and cushions on a faded couch, love seat and armchair, and children's drawings on the walls.

"Bill?" A pretty girl of perhaps fourteen or fifteen, with hair as red as Bill's, appeared in the doorway. His sister - Fleur recognized her from the photo in his flat. The girl stopped suddenly, a look of surprise on her face.

"Hey Gin," Bill said cheerfully. A tall boy came up behind her, also red-headed. Fleur recognized him as well; he was Bill's youngest brother, and Harry Potter's friend.

"Ginny, is that - woah." He broke off mid-sentence, and Fleur realized he was staring at her.

"_She's_ the one coming to stay?" Ginny said at last. Fleur glanced over at Bill, feeling that her introduction to his family was not going quite as smoothly as she might have hoped. He looked unruffled, though slightly surprised.

"Mum didn't tell you?"

"She just said you were coming over tonight, and to help her get Percy's room ready, because we were going to have someone staying with us for a while. Stop _staring_, Ron!"

"Well, yes, Fleur will be staying here, probably for the summer - I'll be here most of the time too. Fleur, this my sister Ginny, and my youngest brother Ron."

Ron did not speak but turned rather red as they were introduced, and Ginny narrowed her eyes slightly. Fleur ignored the less than enthusiastic welcome, kissing them both on the cheeks in greeting.

"Where are Mum and Dad, anyway?"

"Mum's upstairs, getting your room ready. Dad's still at work." Bill and Fleur followed Ginny into a somewhat cramped kitchen, where she called up the stairs.

"Mum, Bill's here!"

Fleur remembered Bill's mother from the Triwizard Tournament; she was rather short and plump, with a kind face and a red hair like her children.

"Hello Bill, I've just finished making up your room - and you must be Fleur; Bill's told us quite a bit about you." Mrs. Weasley descended from the first floor, with a smile that Fleur thought seemed just slightly too enthusiastic to be genuine, but greeted her with an embrace and kiss as well nonetheless. "Supper's almost ready - I'm expecting Arthur home any minute."

Bill's mother busied herself about the kitchen, but Ginny seemed content fix Fleur with a critical eye from across the room. Ron, on the other hand, seemed to be trying to stare determinedly in every direction but towards her. Fleur tightened her grip on Bill's hand, leaning close to whisper in his ear.  
_"Ils ne m'aiment pas." _

_"Ils aiment bien tu," _he murmured back. Fleur glanced back at his sister, who was wearing an expression appropriate for considering how to remove an unsightly stain from a favorite dress.

_"Je ne pense pas." _

His eyes met hers briefly, and though it was only for an instant she felt reassured.

_"T'inquiète pas, ça ira." _

Bill's father arrived just as Mrs Weasley was serving. Fleur decided she liked him almost at once. He was tall like Bill, with some of the same relaxed air but a spark of excitement behind his glasses. Although he looked tired and his robes were a little shabby, the faint ghost of a smile seemed to linger about his face, which grew into a broad grin (quite like Bill's) as he entered the kitchen.

"Well, this must be my future daughter in law," he exclaimed proudly.

"Arthur!" Mrs Weasley looked rather dismayed.

"Oh...did I spoil the surprise?"

"Well I did think that Bill ought to be the one to announce it -"

"Ah, so do the best laid plans oft go awry," said Mr Weasley, still smiling unconcernedly. Fleur could not help noticing that Ginny did not seem quite so pleased, and looked rather as though her worst suspicions had just been confirmed. Ron said nothing and seemed confused as they sat down, Mrs Weasley laying out a steaming bowl of soup in front of each of them.

"Wait - you're getting married?" he blurted out at last. Bill laughed, taking Fleur's hand again on the table.

"Yes, we're getting married."

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_"Ils ne m'aiment pas." _They don't like me.

_"Ils aiment bien tu," _They like you fine.

_"Je ne pense pas" _I don't think so.

_"T'inquiète pas, ça ira.." don't worry, it'll be fine._

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Dinner passed reasonably amicably, mostly due to Mr Weasley's enthusiastic interest in Fleur; he asked her about Beauxbatons, growing up in France, her family, making up for Ginny's pointed silence and Ron's blushing speechlessness. Slightly nervous and eager to make a good impression, Fleur found herself talking rather more than she usually would.

"Yes, I 'ave one sister. We are very close, though I 'ave not seen 'er for over a year now. She writes to me often - she is very excited about coming to England again. She is 'oping she will get to see 'arry Potter again; I think she was rather taken with 'im since 'e saved 'er in ze Triwizard Tournament."

Inexplicably, at this comment Ginny scowled fiercely, clattering her spoon against her bowl with unnecessary force. Fleur glanced questioningly towards Bill, but his attention was on his mother, who was refilling his bowl. She offered the pot towards Fleur, who shook her head.

_"Non, merci." _

Mrs Weasley raised an eyebrow skeptically. Fleur noticed that no-one else had refused a second, (or in Ron's case fourth) helping.

"It is just a bit 'eavy for me."

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, because Mrs Weasley whisked away her saucepan and Fleur's not-quite-finished bowl with the hint of a disapproving frown. Fortunately supper was soon over and Mrs Weasley suggested that Bill show Fleur the garden, giving Fleur a welcome excuse to avoid alienating herself further from the Weasley women.

"I told you, Zey don't like me," she said without preamble, after they were a few steps away from the kitchen door.

"Dad seemed to really like you."

"Your mother and sister. Zey 'ardly spoke to me, and I 'ave already managed to offend them."

Bill stroked the back of her hand with his thumb thoughtfully as they walked together through the somewhat overgrown garden. With the evening summer sun warming her face, the sweet smell of grass and honeysuckle, and Bill close to her Fleur felt her worries ease a little.

"Maybe Mum and Ginny will take a little longer to get used to you," he admitted quietly, "But I'm sure they will. Ron, on the other hand, seemed very pleased to see you again." Bill's eyes were laughing, but Fleur didn't smile. Once, the besotted stares of young men were flattering, though she gradually became more indifferent to most of them. But lately she was growing to hate it - it was a constant reminder that she wasn't fully human, that she was inescapably estranged from human relationships.

" 'E doesn't see me," she said, " 'E doesn't want to know _me_."

Bill stopped walking, turning to look into her eyes.

"_I _see you," he said seriously. "_I _know you. And _I _love you. Give them a little time, and they will too."

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At least over the next few days, the Weasley women did not seem in any hurry to love Fleur. Ginny seemed to be avoiding her at every opportunity, and although Fleur tried to be friendly she received mostly cold looks and thinly veiled sarcasm in response. These were nothing new in themselves – jealousy and disdain from women had always been almost as predictable as attention from men – but it stung from someone as important as Bill's sister. It didn't help that Fleur didn't really know how to begin with her; she'd never had good friends among other girls, and her own sister was a good bit younger than Ginny. Mrs Weasley wasn't hostile, but it also wasn't hard to tell she disapproved of her eldest son's choice in women. She had put Fleur in Percy's room on the second floor, and while Fleur couldn't have honestly expected to be allowed to sleep with Bill in his mother's house, she also couldn't help taking it a bit personally. As if to mirror Fleur's fading hopes of being accepted by Bill's family, the weather took a sudden turn for the worse. Though June in England was not as reliably sunny and warm as in France, Friday night was unseasonably cold and it became increasingly cool and dreary over the weekend.

As she cleared away plates after supper on Sunday evening, Mrs Weasley seemed to be trying to catch Bill's eye. She set the children to chores in various distant parts of the house and garden, and suggested (rather awkwardly) that perhaps Fleur might like to take a bath and enjoy an early bedtime. Ron and Ginny groaned, but Bill simply said, "I've told her about the order, Mum."

Molly seemed slightly scandalized and shot Fleur a look of obvious doubt.

"Right...well then...Bill, could you help me tidy up the sitting room before they get here?"

Fleur got the point at once: Mrs. Weasley clearly didn't share Bill's trust in her, and seemed to want to tell him so. Bill got up to follow her, but not before a quick squeeze of Fleur's hand and a just noticeable roll of his eyes, which made her feel a good deal better. To be perfectly honest, Fleur welcomed an excuse to escape the judgmental eye of the Weasley matriarch a little earlier than usual, but strictly on principle she remained at the table until after they had gone.

After (she felt) she could leave with dignity, she headed upstairs and soon sat wrapped in a blanket on Percy's bed and tried to sketch Bill again, for what seemed the hundredth time. Her annoyance and worries about Bill's family wasn't helping. Why did it have to be so hard? Bill seemed to be taking the whole thing in stride, as if he hardly noticed - but what if they never came to like her? She could see how important family was to Bill - would he still want to marry her if his whole family objected?

"Stop worrying, it doesn't help anything," she told herself. She glanced back at her drawing, which once again just didn't seem right, and let it fall back onto the bed with a sigh. A soft tap on the door startled her, and she looked up as Bill poked his head in.

"Want to come down and meet them?

"Them?"

"The order - they're just arriving for the meeting."

Fleur frowned, remembering Mrs Weasley's mistrustfulness.

"Your mother doesn't seem to think that's a good idea," she replied, with a touch more bitterness than she intended. Bill came in and sat down next to her, taking her hand.

"Don't mind it. Mum's just a bit...tense about trusting new people, what with things the way they are right now. And to be fair, she has only just met you. Anyway, I know you're alright, don't I?" He stood up and pulled her to her feet. "Come on."

Fleur heard the front door opening just as they came into the sitting room and a moment later Mrs Weasley came bustling in, followed by a rather shabbily dressed man who might have been handsome had he not looked so careworn and disheveled. She heard more voices from the hall, then a loud thump that sounded like something falling over.

"Oh, terribly sorry Arthur - are you all right?"

"I'm fine Tonks, don't worry about it. It falls down all the time."

A short, pale witch with purplish hair came in, and then -

"You!" She had her wand out in an instant, leveled at his head. She recognized his scarred face instantly; the mismatched, bizarre eyes, the misshapen nose. How often had she seen it in her nightmares, before a flash of red light.

Mrs Weasley gave a little "Oh!" of shock, and the shabby man spun around, drawing his wand. The purple headed witch had done the same, and as Arthur Weasley came in he looked quite surprised to see a sort of Mexican standoff taking place in his sitting room.

"I say...what...er...?"

The scarred professor was the only one in the room who did not seem alarmed in the least. He stood quite still, his expression impassive, and looked Fleur directly in the eye for a long moment. Even as his normal eye held her gaze, the other one rolled around, then finally settled on her as well. At last he spoke:

"This your girlfriend, Bill?" he growled. "I like her already."

He gave a little nod, and following his eyes Fleur realized his own wand was drawn by his side, trained on her chest. She had not seen him draw it, but now he put it away. "It wasn't me, lass. Put it down."

She felt Bill's hand in hers and gripped it tightly.

"Fleur, it wasn't him..." he murmured quietly, "it was an impostor, in the maze." Slowly, she lowered her wand. There seemed to be a collective sigh of relief among all those present. Mrs Weasley said, rather nervously,

"I'll just fix us some tea," and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Fleur," said Bill, "This is the real Mad-eye Moody, a great Auror and a good friend. Mad-eye - my fiance, Fleur Delacour."

Mad-eye extended a gnarled hand; Fleur put her wand away and took it, matching the firm grip of his rough fingers.

"Hmm," he grunted in apparent approval. "Constant vigilance." She wasn't exactly sure what was meant by this, but he seemed to regard it as a great compliment. The Order began to distribute themselves among the various seats and cushions, and Bill introduced the rest one by one. "Remus Lupin" - the shabby, tired looking man, and the purple haired witch just called "Tonks," who sat down next to him. She couldn't see why, but both of them seemed to look between her and Bill very intently - it made her a little uncomfortable. More members began to arrive, including Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was courteous and friendly despite his imposing figure, followed by Severus Snape, whom she recognized as the potions master from Hogwarts. He fixed her with his cold, black stare from the moment he entered, and merely narrowed his eyes when Bill spoke his name.

Last of all was Albus Dumbledore himself, who took a seat just as Molly came back, carrying a large tray laden with mismatched mugs of hot tea. He smiled at Fleur, and she could tell right away that she was welcome, and he had in fact expected her to be there.

"Madame Delacour, a pleasure to see you again - and may I offer my congratulations to both you and young Mr Weasley."

Fleur realized many of the Order members were looking inquisitively between Dumbledore and herself, and suddenly realized they might share Mrs. Weasley's lack of immediate trust in her. Though she understood rationally they had only just met her, after all, and one couldn't be too careful about spies and the dark arts - how well she knew this herself - nonetheless she felt the beginnings of hot indignation starting in her chest. Bill seemed to sense the danger, and squeezed her hand.

"Fleur and I are engaged to be married," he said simply. "I trust her with my life, and I'll keep no more secrets from her. She's in the same danger we are, anyway, and she deserves to know what's going on."

There was a brief pause, and it seemed to Fleur that the unsaid questions lingering in the room had been answered.

"Well said, William," Dumbledore said, then turned to her. "Miss Delacour, the word of Mr Weasley is enough for me - but you must understand that to join the counsels of the Order is no light matter, and brings with it no little danger. You must be sworn to secrecy, to obedience, even under threat of death. Will you accept this burden?"

At this, Fleur felt a little tendril of cold fear start to creep through the flush of her anger. It was one thing to demand to be taken seriously by mistrustful strangers; it was quite another to pledge allegiance to this calm, serious old man. She forced it back down.

"Yes, I will."

Dumbledore looked at her hard for a long moment, and she felt as though his piercing blue eyes were somehow looking through her, seeing past her bold face to her anger, doubts, and hopes. At last he spoke.

"I am satisfied. Do any here object?" The gathered members of the Order all seemed to be studying her intently, but none said anything. "Very well. Welcome, to the Order of the Phoenix."


End file.
